


My Blood With Fire To Burn

by easyasbreathing



Series: My Blood with Fire to Burn [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Cultural Differences, Demisexuality, Elvish, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Female Gimli, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Genderswap, Gimli is a lady, Khuzdul, Menstruation, Miscommunication, Misgendering, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rule 63, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyasbreathing/pseuds/easyasbreathing
Summary: "Finally, he found Gimli. The dwarf stood, back to the walkway, in an otherwise empty pool and was standing hip-deep, humming absently and scrubbing with a block of soap.  Legolas noted with some surprise that Gimli’s unbound hair was quite long, the curling ends trailing in the water. The dwarf bent to scoop water to rinse, and Legolas tilted his head to one side.  Something seemed… off."Legolas and Gimli find themselves brought together by a secret, and it sparks off a deep friendship.  But eventually, friendship isn't enough anymore, and when no one else is looking the two are falling together. - now complete





	1. Washing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli has disappeared into the baths at Lothlorien. Legolas goes to find 'him'.

The best part of detouring to Lothlorien, Legolas decided firmly, was definitely the baths. They were a series of spring-fed pools in the forest, though they were ringed with stones and with dense hedges for a semblance of privacy. The Fellowship had claimed one such pool, happy to wash thoroughly for the first time since Rivendell, especially after the dankness of Moria.

Legolas was just pulling on a clean tunic when the messenger appeared. The elf bowed deeply—mostly to Legolas, who was the only one paying attention or, indeed, dressed—and said, “Your meal is prepared for you, my lords.”

Legolas nodded and continued dressing. After a moment Aragorn came sloshing out of the bathing pool, unabashedly naked. The halflings were still wrestling playfully in the water, for once not noticing that food was in the offing. Aragorn took a towel from the neat stack and turned to Legolas, roughly toweling his hair.

“Legolas, run fetch our master dwarf, will you? He’s gone off by himself somewhere.”

“Certainly,” Legolas said. Gimli was nowhere to be seen, as usual when any kind of nudity was possible. As Legolas set off, barefoot, he mused that he’d never even see the dwarf make water within view of the rest of the Fellowship. Dwarves were a prudish sort indeed.

The bathing pools made up a small complex, each individual pool invisible to the others by way of clever standing stones and greenery. Legolas nodded politely to the few bathing elves he encountered as he searched for the missing dwarf.

Finally, he found Gimli. The dwarf stood, back to the walkway, in an otherwise empty pool and was standing hip-deep, humming absently and scrubbing with a block of soap. Legolas noted with some surprise that Gimli’s unbound hair was quite long, the curling ends trailing in the water. The dwarf bent to scoop water to rinse, and Legolas tilted his head to once side. Something seemed… off.

“Gimli?”

Gimli jumped, let out a very un-warrior-like noise, turned, and threw the soap, which bounced off of Legolas’ forehead. “Oi!” Gimli shouted. “Don’t go sneaking up on folk, you pointy-eared bastard!”

Legolas gaped.

Gimli was utterly irate and flushed, and it went all the way down to _her_ breasts. She scrambled for the rim of the pool, yanking a towel around herself. It wasn’t quite big enough, leaving one freckled hip exposed. Gimli stalked towards Legolas, who still hadn’t shut his mouth, utterly shocked. Gimli was a lady. A very angry one, Legolas realized, stepping backwards from the irate dwarf until his back hit the stone wall.

Gimli jabbed Legolas in the breastbone with one finger. “If you say a word,” she growled, “I’ll chop you into tiny pieces and bury you in a hole so deep not even the goblins will find you.”

“Ah, of course,” Legolas stammered. “Not a word.”

Gimli glowered at him for a moment longer, then stepped back. “Come to fetch me, I suppose. I’ll be along. Get.”

Legolas turned and fled.


	2. Airing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli decides to have things out with Legolas.

Gimli spent the rest of her bath swearing mightily. By the time she’d got her beard figured out and finally left the chilly water, she was in a towering temper. She dried and dressed with brisk, harsh movements, and braided her hair tighter than necessary.

Dressed, she stomped back down the path, to where the others had bathed. Most of the group had gone, but for some reason Legolas stood waiting on the path, hands clasped behind his back, facing away. 

Legolas turned at the sound of Gimli’s iron-shod boots, and it was all she could do not to suddenly burst out laughing at the badly-disguised terror on the poor lad’s face. Her fierce temper evaporated, though she maintained the scowl. Couldn’t let the little buggers have an inch, after all.

“Come to show me to table, then?” Gimli asked gruffly. She noticed that the tips of Legolas’ ears were blazing red, and felt no little satisfaction at the fact.

“Yes, Ma- uh, Gimli,” the elf stuttered. He recovered badly, then gestured forward with one hand. “If you would follow me.”

*~*~*~*

They’d been in the Golden Wood for three days and Gimli couldn’t deal with this nonsense anymore. They were hardly bosom companions, but Legolas was avoiding her as much as possible—so much so that it was making waves among the Fellowship—and when it was not possible, regarding her as if she were some sort of monstrous being liable to eat him alive. 

So after dinner, when the others were settling in for the evening, she made her way to Legolas. He was speaking with Aragorn in that sibilant elf-tongue, and so didn’t notice her until she seized his elbow. He didn’t startle, but looked down at her with eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

“Yes?”

“You and I need to have a bit of a word,” Gimli said, giving the elf’s arm a firm yank. Legolas looked back to Aragorn, face slightly pleading.

“By all means, Master Dwarf,” Aragorn said graciously. He said something to Legolas, likely an elvish farewell (birdsong, for all she knew) and then turned away to engage Boromir in conversation.

Gimli released Legolas’ arm and headed into the deeper forest, trusting that the elf would follow. He came after her hesitantly. 

Once beyond earshot of the Fellowship, Gimli searched around and found a smooth boulder convenient for sitting. She sat and pulled out her pipe. Legolas hovered nearby, watching as she filled the bowl and lit it with her pocket-flint.

“You wished to speak?”

Gimli took a long draw, to be sure the coals had caught, and finally met Legolas’ ice-blue eyes. “Aye. About the other day, in the baths.”

Legolas tensed, his shoulders drawing upwards. “I do apologize, it was-“

Gimli waved him off. “T’was accidental. But I do take issue with you behaving the way you have lately. You’re hurting the group dynamic, y’ silly bugger.”

Legolas didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He shifted back and forth, then sank to sit cross-legged in the leaf litter. Gimli reflected that it was quite nice to be taller than the elf, for once.

“I am surprised to find that my fellow Walker is other than as they were presented,” Legolas said slowly. “At the council, you were styled as the son of Glóin, and have always presented yourself thus in the time since. And yet, apparently, you are a daughter.”

Gimli sighed. This whole thing would’ve been so much easier among proper dwarrows. “Outside our own closed settlements, we are all sons,” she said baldly. “There are many in the world who would use a dwarrowdam ill, if they knew her for what she was.”

“A… what?” Legolas asked, nonplussed.

“A dwarrowdam, a female,” Gimli said irritably. “Do keep up. Since we all appear so similar to other peoples, it seems safer to agree and find safety in the lie. Of course every dwarf at the council knew what I am, but we weren’t about to say anything to bunch of- of- non-dwarves,” she finished, trying to find the Westron word and failing. “And regardless of sex I am a fearsome warrior and have the full confidence of my people.” She found her grip was tightening on her pipe and deliberately loosened it, lest she break it.

“Of course,” the elf agreed faintly. 

Gimli huffed. “Well, the rest of you lot have strange ideas about your females, in any case. I’m not about to risk being ejected from the company for such a ridiculous reason.”

Legolas looked somewhat offended at that, as much as she could read his unnaturally smooth elven face. “Though I accidently fell into your confidence, I would not betray it. Your secrets are yours to keep or tell as you will. And I am indifferent to the whole matter in any case.”

“Good,” Gimli said firmly. “But Mahal, stop acting like I have a pox.”

Legolas’ mouth quirked ever so slightly. “I shall endeavor to improve, my lady.”

“You-!” Gimli’s cry was interrupted by a silvery laugh, and she huffed, sticking her pipe-stem back in her mouth. “You do that.”

They fell into silence then, and it was strangely companionable, now that the issue had been properly aired out. An idea occurred to Gimli, in that comfortable quiet, and it made her terribly uncomfortable, but if she could be so terribly wrong about the Lady Galadriel then perhaps other elves deserved the same consideration.

“Legolas,” Gimli said slowly, “might you assist me?”

Legolas eyed her questioningly. “With what?”

Gimli set her pipe down next to her on the cool stone. “Keeping my secret from the remainder of the Fellowship,” she said, warming to the idea as she spoke. “I am certain that they would eventually accept me, but until then it would bollocks things up so badly it isn’t worth it. Better to remain Gimli son of Glóin until our task has completed.”

Legolas considered her for a moment, then stood—a single, grace movement—before her, extending his hand. “I shall do the best I am able.”

Gimli hauled herself off the boulder and then accepted Legolas’ hand in a warrior’s clasp. “My thanks.”

Having settled the matter, they returned to the others, Legolas leading. As they walked, Gimli mused that possibly this wouldn’t turn out too terribly. Having another secret-keeper would somewhat ease the burden… even if it was an elf.


	3. On the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is a twit, Gimli can't even

Gimli was not fond of boats. Even so, the elvish canoes were remarkably even-keeled and light in the water, despite their heavy loads. After a time, the swaying and bobbing of the craft became normal instead of cause to send her heartrate rocketing at every little dip.

Of course Legolas sat in the rear of the craft with every appearance of amusement at Gimli’s discomfort. She faced forwards as much as possible.

The other boats had spread out across the surface of the river, out of reach except by a shout, when Legolas broke the silence.

“Was there really no other token you might have asked?”

Gimli turned, grasping the edge of the boat as she swiveled on the bench. Legolas seemed genuinely curious, his pale eyes regarding her without malice. 

“From the Lady?”

“Indeed.”

Gimli huffed. “I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

Legolas failed to rise to the barb, only gently correcting their course with his paddle as his gaze slid into the middle distance. “Of course not,” he agreed easily. “I am simply curious.”

For all that Legolas had proven a decent sort, Gimli was still not sure he wouldn’t subtly mock her somehow. He traded silliness with the hobbits often enough, she knew he hid a wicked tongue under his serene golden exterior. She would have to be cautious.

“I found myself in the presence of a being truly beautiful,” Gimli said slowly. “Both outwardly and in herself. As I cannot be before her always, I thought it a good substitute.”

“You do know that she is married…”

Gimli gaped, utterly flabbergasted… and rather offended, in fact. “So?” she finally forced out.

Legolas met her gaze, tipping his head to one side. “She is not available to be fawned over-“

“I don’t _want _her,” Gimli growled. “Mahal’s balls, what’s wrong with you?”__

It was apparently the elf’s turn to be flabbergasted. “I had thought, with how you looked at her…”

Gimli huffed and crossed her arms to keep herself from fetching a blade and possibly overturning the bloody boat in the ensuing bout. “I’d as soon harbor a longing for a-“here she growled out a series of khuzdul syllables, despite herself—“a string of pearls, or a pretty ring.”

Legolas’ eyebrows rose. “She is a bauble to you, then?”

“ _Metun menu rukhas _, bloody-“ Gimli cut herself off when she saw the very slightest smile tug at the corner of Legolas’ mouth. “You pointy-eared bastard!” she barked. Maybe she could just tip him in the river. Giving him a good ducking would certainly make her feel better, anyway.__

Legolas was openly laughing now- for an elf, anyway; it was more a low chuckle. “My apologies,” he said, waving his hands as he chortled. 

Gimli swiveled around to face forward again, chewing furiously on the end of her mustache and fuming. Out ahead, one of the hobbits waved at her, rocking their canoe and earning a shout of outrage from Boromir. She waved back grudgingly.

Eventually Legolas went quiet, his mirth spent. Gimli was starting to calm too, spitting out her mustache and smoothing it down. Her mother would’ve clouted her one for that bad habit.

“I do truly apologize,” Legolas said eventually, his voice low. “At first I was curious, but you are easily wound up, madam dwarf.”

Gimli huffed. “Only over matters of import,” she said grumpily. The canoe slid over a small swell in the river and landed with a splash; Gimli seized the edge of the boat in a white-knuckled hand. Dwarves did not belong in boats.

“It would take a great deal of effort to capsize the boats of the Galadhrim,” Legolas said from behind her. “Unless you do it a-purpose, I believe you are safe.”

“I may know it, but belief is a flightier thing.”

“Well then, believe this.” At the weight in Legolas’ tone, Gimli turned to meet his gaze. Even as he sat squashed between rations and baggage, the sunlight lighting his pale hair in a mussed halo, he had a strange sort of dignity.

“When the Lady Galadriel gave you that lock, she honored you as no other thinking being upon Arda has ever been,” Legolas said, his gaze intense. “I find myself honored to be in such noble company.”

When silence followed the elf’s words, it was much more companionable than before, and Gimli turned her gaze upon the sun-gilded river with much to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Metun menu rukhas" - you dine with orcs


	4. Worst Trip Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three Hunters are hunting orc, but Gimli is trapped in every woman's nightmare.

They laid Boromir to rest on the river.

The urgency to move was intense, but still the three remaining companions stood vigil as the grey elf craft bearing Boromir’s remains drifted with the current and out of sight over the falls. Only once it had gone did Aragorn turn to the other two, his face resolved.

“We’ll have to run them down,” he said. “After me!” And off he went, as light footed as if he were an elf himself, Legolas following immediately behind.

Gimli followed.

In the dense cover near the river, it wasn’t too hard to keep up, but once they hit the moors the two taller runners went tearing out ahead. It was all Gimli, with her shorter legs and heavier gear, could do to keep them in sight. She ran on, legs chugging across the landscape like a machine, breath harsh as she tried to work through the stitch in her side. Eventually she closed their lead until the others were in earshot, but she didn’t for a second think it was anything other than a kindness on their part.

By evening she was aching all over. She stumbled and fetched up against a boulder, legs burning, back aching, hot cramps in her belly and knives in her feet. “Long-legged… bastards,” she panted. 

“Gimli? Are you well?”

Of course Legolas didn’t even sound winded. “Give us a mo’,” Gimli called back, and bent at the waist, hands on knees as she blew. She just needed to catch her breath, and a moment to refresh herself, and she’d go on. She had to, for Merry and Pippin.

Aragorn came up and clapped a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “Just a moment, master dwarf, we must continue.”

She gave him a dirty look and did not comment, but instead straightened up. “Right. I need a moment,” she said, and went to go behind the largest boulder she could find.

“A moment? For what?” Aragorn called after her.

“To take a piss, you _uslikhith _,” Gimli bellowed back, and was fairly certain she heard Legolas snicker under his breath.__

Of course at that point things only got worse, because Gimli found her smallclothes stained dark red and sticky. She rested her head against the boulder and swore mightily under her breath. She couldn’t even change her clothes.

“Gimli?”

“Aye!” Gimli called back, and hastily pulled a handful of moss and lichen from the boulder and bunched it up in her smallclothes. It was dirty and itchy but would probably work, and she had literally nothing else. A moment’s thought had her stuffing more moss in her pocket.

The trio took a moment for a bite of lembas and a sip of water, and they were off again.

_*~*~*~*~*_

This was it, Gimli decided as she chugged after Aragorn and Gimli. This was the worst thing she’d ever had to do, the thing that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.

They had run through the night, only stopping a handful of times to check their route and twice for Gimli to change the mess in her smalls, though only she knew that. While they were moving she felt all right, but every time they paused the cramps would ripple across her pelvis, all the worse for having been delayed by physical exertion. She was sick to her stomach and her thighs were starting to chafe. Still, she ran.

Legolas didn’t say a word, but Aragorn seemed to be growing irritated with her apparent lack of fortitude. Every time they had to wait for her his scowled deepened and he paced in place until she was ready to continue. Gimli withstood it as best she could.

She had to pause again mid-morning, finding such privacy as she could within a thin copse of scraggly trees. Her excuses for even needing privacy were getting weaker, and she knew it.

“Are you quite finished, master dwarf?” Aragorn called, his voice unnaturally flat. Right, that was it, Gimli thought as she grit her teeth.

“It’s _madam_ dwarf, if you _don’t_ mind,” she growled back. “And if you don’t let me deal with this then _you_ can clean the blood out of my trousers!”

Silence. Gimli finished her ablutions, such as they were, and then rejoined the others. Aragorn looked utterly stunned, gaping at her in shock. Legolas, on the other hand, was biting his lip to try and keep down a smile that Gimli was sure would’ve fairly split his head open.

“Ready, lads?” Gimli asked dryly. “Right then, let’s be off.”

She started out again, and after a moment the other two passed her at a brisk jog, Aragorn resolutely stone-faced and Legolas grinning widely.

“Glad someone thinks this is funny,” Gimli grumbled, and then ran on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uslikhith: runt of litter
> 
> There will be Gimli/Legolas stuff eventually, but apparently I had to write this first.


	5. On Horseback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three Hunters meet Eomer, the Rohirrim, and Arod.

The miles passed in a weary blur, and eventually they were forced to stop for the night lest they lose the trail. Gimli had never been so grateful for hard, dry ground and tasteless travel rations. She and Aragorn both slept fitfully in the grass, while Legolas kept watch, pacing about them and muttering to himself. 

It was sometime between moonset and dawn when Gimli awoke from fitful slumber to see Legolas standing close by, limned in the faint starlight. She sat up, rubbing the small of her back; now she had the ache of sleeping on bare ground to add to all her other woes, Gimli thought wryly, as she pulled her lone blanket straight.

Legolas seemed to be humming something under his breath, a tune Gimli was unfamiliar with. “What song is that?” she asked, voice thickened with fatigue.

Legolas turned slightly, acknowledging her. “The melody has been used for many songs,” he replied, voice soft so as not to wake the Ranger. “It was originally composed for the Lay of Luthien.”

It took Gimli a moment, rubbing her sleepy eyes, to place the name. “That awful tragic thing?”

Legolas sat cross-legged in the grass close by, those his eyes still roamed about, keeping watch. Gimli wondered how he could see anything in the blackness, lit only by cold and distant stars. “I thought of it while considering our companion. He himself is of Men, but his intended is an elf maid, Arwen Undómiel. It is said she is the very image of Luthien, and has the same choice before her.”

“Hmm,” Gimli rumbled absently, too fuzzy-headed for anything much more intelligent. “Poor lass.”

Legolas’ eyes seemed sharp. “Oh?”

Gimli nodded. “To choose between your lover and your kin, it is not a decision to be envied.”

“Most interpret the choice as being between mortality and immortality,” Legolas replied dryly. While normally Gimli would be happy to indulge in the philosophical debate he seemed to be inviting, she was too tired. She slumped back to earth and wriggled into the most comfortable position she could manage.

“Maybe,” she agreed muzzily, resting her head on her forearm, “but it seems to me how the time is spent matters more than how long it is.”

Gimli rapidly dropped back into slumber, and whatever response Legolas made was lost. She thought she felt a hand brush over her hair, but then she was asleep and forgot all about it.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Two more days of chasing after orcs followed, brightened only somewhat by the discovery of an elven brooch dropped by clever hobbit fingers. Eventually even Legolas’ feet wearied, and the trio trudged over the grasslands of Rohan, aware that even as they marched the hobbits were being swept farther and farther away. 

The endless plateau of Rohan had been empty thus far, but then the trio was over swept by a company of the Rohirrim, the tall and fair-haired Men rendered even taller by their almost ridiculously tall horses. All three stood back-to-back as the riders circled about and brought their spears—heavy enough to kill a boar, let alone a dwarf—to bear. The leader, with a horsehair crest on his elaborate helm, dismounted, while the others kept them at spear-point. Gimli kept her hands off her axe-haft only by force of will, clenching her fists until they ached.

“What business does an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?” the leader barked. “Speak quickly!”

Gimli drew her shoulders back. To greet obviously weary travelers thus could hardly be excused, especially when outnumbered so. He really was rude. “Give me your name, horse-master,” she said, as politely as she could (which wasn’t very), “and I shall give you mine.”

The Man approached, sneering under his ridiculous horse-helm, and eyed her up and down as if taking her measure and finding her wanting, like a typical Man. “I would cut off your head, _Dwarf_ , if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”

Legolas moved then, a brief flicker, and an elvish arrow was aimed point-blank at the horseman. “You would die before your stroke fell,” Legolas snarled, face twisted in an ugly scowl. The tension ratcheted up instantly, spears closing in, and Gimli seized Legolas’ off shoulder, uncertain what she could possibly do to stop this ridiculous display of maleness. His muscle was like iron under her hand, almost vibrating with the strain of not launching his missile.

Finally Aragorn stepped in, pressing Legolas’ arrow downwrds. The whole assemblage let out a breath, and Gimli released Legolas’ shoulder, light-headed with relief. However fine a warrior she was, she could never take on over a hundred angry Rohirrim on horseback and live. 

Aragorn gave their names, Éomer gave his, and Gimli was happy enough to let the Men work things out themselves. While they spoke she tugged on Legolas’ sleeve, just enough to draw his attention. He was still stiff, wary, but he turned his face to hers.

“Why’d you do that, y’ daft elf,” Gimli hissed. Legolas looked surprised.

“He offered you insult,” he said blankly, as if that were all the explanation needed. 

“Aye, but I can survive insults, not a full cavalry regiment,” Gimli retorted quietly. Legolas shrugged.

“It’s worked out all right, hasn’t it?”

Gimli glared at him, but before she could argue back they were being presented with a pair of riderless horses, and the whole party of Rohirrim went thundering back off into the distance, once again unconcerned by their small party. 

“Horses! I’d rather the boats back,” Gimli exclaimed. Aragorn mounted with hardly a pause and gave Gimli an amused look.

“You have kept up with us afoot admirably, madam dwarf, but even your stamina cannot keep pace with a pair of the Rohirrim’s steeds,” he said. 

Legolas had quickly stripped most of the tack from the dapple grey horse, leaving only the bridle and a leather band to which he strapped his gear, and led it to stand beside Gimli. He stroked the animal’s head as he spoke. “As there are only two steeds, you shall be spared the trouble of horsemanship, and may ride behind me,” he said, the anger of only minutes before evaporated and replaced by good cheer. “Our new friend Arod will not mind, and I shall keep you from falling.”

Gimli grumbled under her breath, but gave Legolas her hand and allowed herself to be awkwardly shoved onto the back of the horse. She’d ridden ponies at need, but this beast was fearsomely tall and broad-backed, not to mention lacking a proper saddle, and the ground was very far away. She was still shifting, trying to get comfortable, when Legolas all but vaulted onto the horse ahead of her.

“Let us make haste,” Aragorn called, and turned his mount to follow the orc-trail. 

Despite not seeing her face, Legolas much have sensed her unease, for he reached back and took both her hands and wrapped them about his slim waist, pulling Gimli flush with his back. She grabbed at his belt as he took up the reins. “There isn’t time to teach you to ride properly,” Legolas said, urging Arod into motion. “We shall carry on regardless. Try to move with the animal, don’t be so stiff.”

“I’m trying to not fall off, how can I move and yet be seated?” Gimli grumbled. Despite herself, she tightened her arms about Legolas as the horse picked up speed to catch up with Aragorn until they were travelling the grasslands at a brisk trot.

“Here.” Legolas grasped her right leg where it was bumping against the back of his thigh with every stride Arod took and pressed it even closer to his leg. “Try to move the way I do. It’s a dance, us and Arod, just follow how I lead.”

Gimli tried to relax and mimic the subtle shifting of Legolas’ body, at least as much as she could feel through all her layers of leather and mail. She was uncomfortably aware of how she was pressed up against him, so tightly she had to turn her head sideways and let her helm fall between his shoulder blades, which had to be uncomfortable. She closed her eyes, to block out the sight of the grass so very below them, and tried to just follow the elf’s lead as he had said without thinking about how she was purposefully pressing herself up against his pert elvish arse.

“Good!” Legolas said cheerfully. He patted her wrist where it was tight against his waist. “Keep on like that, and we’ll be fine.”

“Dratted elf,” Gimli grumbled, and tried to ignore the knot in her gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never ridden pillion on a horse, but I imagine it's rather like riding pillion on a motorcycle, which is what I drew on for the riding scene, along with a healthy dose of imagination.


	6. Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments in-between the great happenings in Rohan and Edoras

Never had a day been so emotionally taxing, Gimli decided. Hobbits dead, then alive, and then the wizard returned to them. It hardly bore thinking about, she decided, watching as Aragorn and Legolas talked quietly amongst themselves while seeing to Hasufel and Arod.

Gimli sank into the grass gratefully, and wondered absently if she could call it ‘saddle sore’ when they’d been riding bareback. She now had an encyclopedic knowledge of the musculature of Legolas’ back and thighs, as well, which was neither here nor there.

Gandalf sat nearby, and produced a pipe and leaf as if from thin air. He eyed Gimli with amusement as he took a coal from the small campfire, using it to light the pipe. “So,” he said, his deep voice strangely loud in the twilight, “madam, is it?”

Gimli huffed, smiling despite herself. “I’m disappointed in you, Gandalf, if you’re only now figuring it out.”

“Oh, hardly,” Gandalf said, smiling, and for a moment Gimli could almost see him dressed and hatted in grey, his beard long and scraggly, and the sudden change to this white-cloaked and well-groomed stranger makes her heart ache strangely. 

“Well, the secret’s out now,” Gimli said, sighing. “Thankfully our companions have made nothing of it. Hopefully it shall continue that way, for whatever length of time we remain dedicated to our quest.”

“Nothing, eh?” Gandalf echoed, his eyebrows rising. Gimli’s eyes narrowed.

“Did one of them say something to you?” she demanded. “If they’re speaking behind my back like a couple of old windbags-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gandalf said soothingly. “Never mind an old man’s musings, my dear dwarf.”

Gimli harrumphed but let it lie, and looked after the fire.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Should she survive this madness, Gimli would have to see about composing a song to the hospitality of Meduseld. Even Lothlorien, with its chilly open-air baths and pleasant but ultimately airy and insubstantial mien, could not compare to a hot bath in a copper before a fire. The tub was massive, and Gimli dunked her head again, working the dirt and grease from her long hair. 

The door creaked, and Gimli looked up to see the lady of the house—Éowyn—enter, arms full of bottles and cleaning rags. She placed these on a small table near where Gimli had abandoned her things.

“For your leathers,” she said, and then sat on a small stool nearby. “Do you require any assistance, my lady?”

Gimli shook her head. “I am quite well at present,” she said. The water, while nicely hot, was getting murky, and she would have to get out soon, she thought sadly. At least there was the fire.

“Your hair is lovely.”

Gimli smiled and nodded at the complement. “I thank you, though I’m afraid I make a poor showing of it right now,” she said. There was nothing for it, she thought, and stood, taking up a towel while Éowyn looked modestly away. “At home, it would be treated with scented oils and put in some of the most complex hairstyles ever conceived of,” she said, reminiscing. “Sadly, on the road I am limited to good soap and simple braids.”

Éowyn seemed to be mulling this over. “We have some oils,” she said, “and I could help to do something more elaborate with it, if you like.”

Gimli’s eyebrows raised as she clambered out of the oversized bathtub, patting the last of the water off her legs. Éowyn certainly did not know of the customs surrounding dwarvish hair, and the offer was kindly meant. “That would be wonderful.”

Éowyn did her best, but Gimli’s hair was extremely thick and curly and was a known comb-eater, never mind her beard. Eventually they managed to work in the hair oil—the scent was pleasant, though unfamiliar—and her hair was left mostly unbound, save a tiara-style braid pinned above her forehead and the few dwarvish informational braids Gimli wore while on the road, all bound with golden beads. Her beard she styled as usual. Éowyn seemed to find it confounding, but said nothing, probably out of politeness. 

“I thank you, especially as I am taking you from your normal duties, and preparations for the funeral,” Gimli said as they finished. Éowyn smiled stiffly.

“Hospitality is one of my duties,” Éowyn assured her, “and one who escorted Gandalf to us deserves every kindness.”

Éowyn even helped Gimli dress, in the only clean outfit left to her- a sturdy blue tunic and dark lace-up trousers. She had only the one pair of boots, however, and wore them back out into the hall proper.

Aragorn and Legolas had likewise bathed, and left off their leathers, and to Gimli they looked a little like they’d been freshly peeled, she was so accustomed to the dirty things. Legolas was even barefoot, and he looked jarringly elvish in only his green leggings and loose linen shirt, among all the men in their dark layers of fabric.

Éowyn left him there, and Gimli joined Legolas at the table happily. “Hello there, lad,” she said cheerily. Legolas regarded her with hooded eyes, taking her in.

“Hello,” he replied. “What ever have you done to your hair?”

“My hair?” Gimli felt at her hair blindly, wondering what he meant. “It’s only a little oil.”

“Hmm,” Legolas hummed vaguely, and said nothing more. Gimli felt suddenly wrong-footed, and set to the food laid out with rather less enthusiasm than she’d had moments before.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Of course she had no idea, Legolas thought.

The massive hall of Edoras was lit almost entirely by firelight, and it caught on Gimli’s curls, burnishing the already ruddy strands until they almost glowed with their own light. Stripped of her leathers and chainmail, dressed in only a simple tunic, the lines of her figure were suddenly obvious- wide curving hips, small high breasts, a body muscular and broad but undeniably feminine. Even the beard—anathema to elves, ubiquitous to dwarves—looked lovely in the low light.

Legolas turned away, frustrated with himself. Gimli was his friend and companion in arms, she was not to be… ogled. 

The whole nonsense with riding the horse hadn’t helped at all, Legolas reflected darkly. Having her pressed against him, even with her armor, for almost two days had been terribly distracting. Feeling the strength in her arms as she clasped his middle, trying valiantly not to embarrass herself on the horse, had just about driven him ‘round the bend. 

He really needed to sort this out, Legolas resolved, staring sightlessly at the rushes scattered on the floor. As Gimli had said before, he’d bugger up the group dynamic. His mouth quirked, thinking of Gimli’s characteristically scatological approach to life. Then he sighed.

He was a mess.


	7. Helm's Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of Helm's Deep is joined. Gimli encounters war, gender politics, and inscrutable elves.

It started raining.

Gimli tried to stand on tiptoe, to see over the man-sized ledge without drawing attention. The water was getting down under her armor, and she’d have to oil it thoroughly after the battle to prevent rust. At the moment, it was making her shoulder blades itch.

“The lot of you are too bloody tall,” she grumbled. “What’s happening out there?”

Legolas, who stood ready at her side, looked down on her with a deceptively merry smile. “Shall I describe it to you,” he asked, “or would you like me to find you a box?”

Gimli could do nothing but let out a startled laugh.

The Uruk-hai in the vale below them pounded their fists on their shields, making animalistic grunts and shrieks in the dark. The commotion may have somewhat unmanned the farmers of Rohan, but it only made Gimli impatient. She gripped her axe easily, jumping from one foot to the other to keep herself warm in the chill rain, and wished they would get on it already.

Then an errant arrow was loosed, and soon the Uruk-hai were storming the walls. Legolas calmly loosed arrow after arrow. Then the ladders brought enemies over the wall, and finally Gimli could put her axe to use cleaving the beasts apart.

Soon she stood alone before a ladder, and every enemy that came up met with her weapon. It was like slaughtering lambs as they came down the chute. She started counting aloud, just to keep from laughing in the poor monster’s faces as they died. “Eighteen!” Nineteen!” she bellowed, as another Uruk toppled back whence he came.

The entire wall shuddered, massive stones flying about. A massive rent appeared over the Deeping-stream. Gimli raced to the edge and saw Aragorn down amongst the rubble, shaking off the shock.

“Aragorn!” she bellowed, and went charging to the edge and out, into open air—and down, amongst the enemy. Aragorn scrambled up and joined her just as she was being overrun and pushed down into the drink. He hauled her up and together they laid about with their weapons, keeping the beasts out of the keep as best they could.

But the call came for retreat. Gimli responded without thinking, deep in battle-fever and accustomed to answering her commander’s orders. She clipped one last Uruk with her axe and then they were in the keep, barricading the door from within.

“The shield-maidens of the dwarves are fierce indeed,” Aragorn panted as they jogged towards the gates. 

“Oh, aye,” Gimli retorted as they scrambled up the stairs. “Our balls are so big we have to keep ‘em on our chests!”

Aragorn let out a bark of startled laughter, and then they were at the gates, and back amongst the melee.

Much of the night passed into a blur of battle, the smells of sweat and death and fear thick despite the pouring rain. Even so the Uruk horde pressed them back into the caves, taking the wall and the keep both, only kept from wreaking havoc among the helpless hiding in the caverns by a sturdy barricade.

Gimli found herself useless, suddenly, the gate held by a thick press of Men, her axe still for the first time in hours. She went deeper into the cavern, where some of the women had been giving water to the wearied fighters, Éowyn among them. She offered Gimli a draft from a dripping ladle and the dwarf accepted it gladly. 

“How fare the women and children?” Gimli asked quietly. 

Éowyn looked around for listeners before bending to Gimli’s ear. “Far too few of the men have made it back,” she said, voice low and hard. “The few unclaimed weapons there were have been taken up by grand-dames and mothers with children. Even the children have gone terribly quiet.”

Gimli nodded grimly. Truly, unless something miraculous happened, angry grand-dames may be the only defense Helm’s Deep had remaining. She patted Éowyn’s arm, and went to find Aragorn.

Aragorn had fetched up against a stone wall, binding a cut on his hand with a piece of hastily ripped cloth. He looked up sharply at the sound of her iron boots.

“Gimli. Are you injured?”

“Not as yet,” she replied. “You are deep in the king’s council. Surely there is something left to us. The women are prepared to die over their children.”

Aragorn’s jaw clenched. “Théoden King is in the armory,” he said. “Mayhap he will know.”

The king stood amongst what remained of his personal guard, all exhausted and bloody. Legolas was among them, though of course he’d managed to stay utterly pristine, aside from the lingering dampness. His hair clung to his neck, almost translucent. He and Gimli exchanged silent nods in greeting while the Men spoke.

Éowyn came trailing in, just as Théoden seemed to know his mind. He grasped her by the elbows. “Take the women and children into the hills,” he ordered, “and get them as far as you can from here.”

Éowyn’s eyes widened, but she stiffened herself and nodded. Then, Théoden turned to Gimli.

“I would have you accompany them, madam dwarf.”

“I- you- what?” Gimli blustered. “I belong with-“

“I need someone to guard the rear of the column,” Théoden interrupted. “The way is narrow, and you are the best accustomed to such close quarters fighting. And besides,” he added dryly, “I would rather not have the last living Daughter of Durin’s House spend her life in a keep of Men.”

Gimli shut her mouth with a snap. Apparently Théoden was better versed in diplomacy than she’d thought, if he’d discovered such a thing.

“Fine,” Gimli grumbled. Éowyn gave her a grateful look, which Gimli ignored in a fit of pique. She should’ve known that gender politics would muck things up eventually. 

Legolas clapped a hand to Gimli’s shoulder, where it made a slight squelching noise. “You have the better task, my friend,” he said quietly. Gimli met his eyes, dark and intent, and found herself nodding. 

“I expect to find you lot well when I return,” Gimli said sharply, giving Legolas and Aragorn a dirty look. They nodded back.

“We’ll be fine,” Aragorn said. “Go. The gate may not hold for long.”

Legolas gave her shoulder one last squeeze, and then Gimli and Éowyn left.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Éowyn had to lead, so Gimli found herself at the rear of the column with a trio of grim faced middle-aged women, all clutching makeshift weapons, none speaking a word of Westron. Gimli resorted to crude pantomime to get the three to walk in formation, protecting the rear, while Gimli herself trailed behind some fifty paces, armed with her axes and a small lantern. 

The tunnel through the rock was partially carved by hands, partially by natural processes. Gimli found herself trailing a bare hand on the stone, trying to feel the song of the mountain as they walked. The rock spoke mostly of marching feet, but she could feel that the tunnel they traversed was only a small outlier of a larger cave system. 

After an hour or so they passed through a crossroads in the stone. One path had been made wider, but the other, a narrow crevice in the stone, had not. A fresh breeze blew up from it, smelling of water and limestone. Gimli paused there, listening hard. There was probably another path into the mountain there, and who knew if the enemy had discovered it.

Gesturing her intent to the rear guard, who seemed confused but willing to part with her for the moment, Gimli stepped into the natural tunnel.

The gap went deep into the stone, long and narrow, and at some points she had to turn sideways. After fifty yards or so it opened up. Gimli held her lantern high, and felt the air leave her in a rush.

Never had she seen stone so lovely, so achingly beautiful. Millennia of water, now vanished, had carved it into fluted shapes, rippled like waves. Crystals grew in clumps from the walls in brilliant colors, taking the light from her lantern and throwing it out again tenfold. Numb, Gimli felt for the wall, and heard it whisper of deeper, larger caverns, full of other, even greater beauties. The sound of marching Men was distant here, overlaid by the music of the living earth itself.

Gimli shook herself hard. She could go no farther without abandoning the column, which she had been charged to protect. She made her way back down the gap, but her heart was heavy with regret.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

They’d made it to the halfway point, a large marble formation with the names of ancient kings carven in it, when a messenger came running up the path behind them. Gimli jumped at the lad, who shrieked and jumped over a foot and very obviously was a lad of Rohan. Gimli put away her axe while he gasped for breath.

“What has happened?”

“Éomer has come!” the boy gasped. “It’s a rout! I am bid tell you to return.”

The boy gave his message again in the Rohan language, which made the entire column cheer. The noise echoed back down the tunnel. The stone was still ringing when the group started back towards Helm’s Deep, grim silence replaced by hopeful chatter. The march back, going downhill, took a third less time than the upward slog had, and soon enough they were emerging the caves altogether and stepping out into pale sunlight.

Gimli stepped to the side, allowing women and children to emerge and go looking for their menfolk. The fortress was still littered with the dead and dying, a party of soldiers checking every prone Uruk body and dispatching those which still breathed. It was a grim sight, and soon the cheer of the women was replaced with cries of mourning as they found the bodies of their kin.

As Gimli stood watch, Legolas emerged, still unbloodied and appearing untouched by the battle. He embraced her roughly, much to her surprise, and she barely managed to respond before he’d released her again.

“Gandalf came!” the elf said happily. “He found the rogue riders and utterly destroyed the Uruk army. And more than that, a great party of huorns have gathered at the mouth of the vale, and killed off those that tried to escape. Saruman shall be utterly crippled by this, I have no doubt.” He clapped Gimli on the shoulders, eyes bright. “And I myself slew forty-two of them,” he said, smiling as if describing a fox-hunt rather than a fearsome battle.

Gimli snorted and smacked the elf’s elbow, the closest bit in easy reach. “Good on ye, lad,” she said. “Though you were in the battle longer, which I think is cheating. I took forty-three before I was bid play rear guard for the womenfolk.”

They began walking for the armory, which had become the de facto command post, and likely to remain so with the rest of the keep fouled by dead orcs. “I am glad you went,” Legolas said, suddenly sobering.   
“Even if you were not needed. I would see you safe.”

Gimli gave Legolas a puzzled look. “I can keep myself safe enough,” she said slowly. “Why should my being away from the fighting gladden you?”

Legolas went inscrutable then, becoming unreadably _elvish_ in a way he hadn’t since Lothlórien. “You are my friend.”

“So’s Aragorn, and you didn’t send him off-“

They reached the armory then, and met Gandalf with Éomer, and Gimli had to drop the subject. She watched Legolas closely, however, and wondered at his words.


	8. Forging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe things are a little awkward, but they're still friends. Also Aragorn is a bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have edited this chapter to include a scene that I wasn't happy with when I originally wrote it. I redid it, and now here it is!

It would be days before they could leave Helm’s Deep. Not until the worst of the wounded was fit enough to travel, and the destruction of the battle had been at least somewhat repaired.

Gimli had found a small forge on the second day, and had immediately set to repairing broken swords and fractured breastplates. Despite the chilly weather, she was warm enough in the outdoor forge that her tunic was soon soaked to the skin beneath her heavy leather smithing apron, and her hands grew slick inside her protective gloves. They were familiar complaints, and she ignored them, instead pounding at the hot metal with heavy hammer-blows to work out her frustration.

She was indeed frustrated, by Théoden and all the rest of them. One of the king’s guard had tried to convince her to go count potatoes! As if her sex made her a weakling or a poor smith. Her response to the suggestion had been to bring the hammer down on the anvil so hard the haft bent, and after the guard left she had to replace the handle before she could continue, cursing vehemently all the time. The look on his face had been worth it, though.

Gimli paused to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. Just then Legolas stepped into her vision, and she saluted him with her hammer. His hair was mussed, but otherwise he looked perfectly fresh. There was simply nothing to be done for Elvish constitutions, Gimli thought wryly.

“How does the work progress?” Legolas asked, taking in the half-repaired sword laying on the anvil.

Gimli took the sword up in her tongs and tucked it back into the hot coals. She stripped her gloves, stuffing them in a convenient apron pocket, and turned to give Legolas her full attention. “Well enough,” she said, wiping at her face. 

Legolas produced a handkerchief from somewhere and handed it to her mutely. Gimli accepted it gratefully. 

“Aragorn and the others think we’ll be able to leave perhaps three days hence,” Legolas said, watching as Gimli wiped the perspiration from her brow. “Will that be time enough for your work?”

“More than,” Gimli replied. “And yourself?”

“The wounded keep me busy enough,” Legolas said. He hesitated for a moment, mouth working at something yet unsaid, then said, “When I said it was good you went with the women into the hills, it had nothing to do with being a woman yourself.”

“Dwarrowdam,” Gimli corrected automatically. Legolas smiled faintly. “I never thought so,” Gimli said, and Legolas looked relieved. “I was confused that you later said you were glad to see me go, however,” Gimli continued, and then Legolas began to look distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well…” Legolas trailed off, brow furrowed. He looked at Gimli helplessly. 

Something about the artlessly distraught, confused look on the elf’s face pierced Gimli. He wasn’t grimy like so many of those in the keep, but for once the loftiness had gone. He stood there, beside a rack of forge tools, stray hairs escaping his braids and his clothing rumpled, and Gimli found herself extremely fond of her silly elf friend. She smiled at him, and the taut line of his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“It’s fine, really,” she said. “It is no terrible thing to wish to protect your friends.”

Legolas nodded jerkily, but said nothing, staring at her. After a moment, Gimli started to feel awkward, and made to hand the handkerchief back.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Legolas said quickly, backing up until he brushed the rack, making a set of calipers fall with a clatter. He hastily bent to pick them up and shoved them back haphazardly, and then spun on his heel and was gone. Gimli was left staring blankly after him, the limp handkerchief still extended. Sometimes Legolas could be so very odd, she concluded, and put the little fabric square on a shelf well away from the fire. 

Then Gimli pulled her gloves on and set once again to work.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Aragorn was removing his boots, mentally preparing himself for another night sleeping on stone, when Legolas approached. Aragorn was surprised to note that the elf looked anxious, something he’d rarely before seen in him.

“ _Might I have a moment?_ ” Legolas asked in elvish. Aragorn nodded dumbly and gestured to his neatly arranged bedroll. Legolas delicately sat cross-legged and started picking at the upper edge of one of his boots, eyes unfocused.

_“What is bothering you?”_ Aragorn replied in the same tongue.

_“Does it ever bother you, knowing what your lady is giving up to be with you?”_ Legolas asked. Aragorn was somewhat taken aback by the non-sequitur and hoped there was some point, not just Legolas delaying the issue.

_“It has, on occasion,”_ Aragorn said slowly. _“But ultimately it is her choice, a gift freely given. Why do you ask?”_

Legolas let a long, low sigh, but did not look up from his boots. _“I find that I am viewing Gimli … strangely.”_

Aragorn couldn’t contain his snort. Legolas looked up sharply, surprised and dismayed.

_“Legolas, everyone in Rohan knows you fancy her,”_ Aragorn said. 

Legolas scowled. _“I do not ‘fancy’ her.”_

_“What then, your highness?”_ Aragorn asked teasingly.

Legolas looked back down, unable to meet his old friend’s gaze as he spoke. _“Never has a maid of any race been so dear to me,”_ he said quietly, his tone becoming slightly wistful. _“She is a friend to me, of course, but I find myself wishing to be close to her always, to wrap myself in her hair as if it were a cloak, to sooth her hurts and share her joys.”_

_“So you fancy her.”_

Legolas reached over and gave Aragorn, who was laughing, a thump on the leg. _“Have a care, you great brute,”_ Legolas admonished.

Aragorn sobered, with some effort, then said, _“What is the problem then? Press your suit and know Gimli’s mind.”_

_“But she is mortal, and I am elf-kind,”_ Legolas said mournfully. Aragorn shook his head.

_“That doesn’t matter,”_ he said firmly. _“If you truly love each other then it is worth everything. Would you die for her?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“Then what does it matter, dying in battle or old in bed, if it is for her?”_

Legolas fell silent, considering. After a moment Aragorn clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and spoke in Westron once again, the delicate matter of Legolas’ affection having been aired out. “I bear you all affection, Legolas, but I shall require the use of my bedroll. Go, and think on matters, and act soon.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed faintly, and stood up, allowing Aragorn to wiggle into his blankets. “I thank you for your wisdom,” he added, as Aragorn got himself comfortable.

“You can thank me by doing something about it,” Aragorn said firmly, and with that the conversation was done. He went into uneasy sleep, and Legolas left to walk the battlements, deep in thought.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Their exodus from Helm's Deep was cheerful enough, but Gimli was selfishly grateful for the detour to Isengard. It was a chance to get away from the confused stares of the folk of Rohan who still saw her as ‘female’ first and ‘warrior’ second, or not at all. Her shallow store of diplomacy was well and truly empty from fending off well-meaning inquiries about her health and how she was handling things. As if she hadn’t been a fully blooded and seasoned warrior of the Dwarves for longer than many of these Men had been alive. It was maddening.

Perched on Arod, she couldn’t help sagging slightly against Legolas’ back when their small party left the larger group. 

“Are you well?” Legolas asked.

Gimli patted the elf’s knee, as he could not see her face. “Perfectly,” she said. “They mean well, but the people of Rohan don’t know what to do with a female warrior.”

“Get out of her way, I should think,” Legolas responded dryly, and Gimli snickered into the fabric of his cloak. She was much more comfortable on horseback now, after several days of unwilling practice, but she’d still molded herself to the elf’s back as they rode from sheer habit. 

Gimli and Legolas chatted easily as they rode, with Gandalf, Aragorn, and Théoden King and his guards arrayed about them. Gimli told of her discoveries within the mountains shielding Helm’s Deep, and she and Legolas exchanged promises to visit both it and Fangorn Forest together once this war business was done with. Gimli soon fell into daydreams of the beauty of the cavern and mused aloud, much to the elf’s amusement. 

It was some hours later when they came upon Isengard. The great walled enclosure was completely flooded, like an outsized duck pond in someone’s garden. Gimli swiftly took in the broken dam and decided that the Ent they met in Fangorn had been very forgiving indeed of her axes.

They she spied the small figures on the wall, and was immediately outraged. The cheeky little blighters were even smoking! 

“Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!” called out Merry as they approached, with a cheerful smile and a bow. 

“Oi!” Gimli bellowed back, making Legolas jump. “You woolly-pated little truants! We’ve gone nigh two hundred leagues to find and rescue you, only to find you feasting and- and _smoking_!”

“There’s enough and to spare, master dwarf, should you wish to take your ease,” Merry called back, joined by Pippin’s high pitched chortling (he swiftly choked on it, and Merry pounded his back). 

The hobbits climbed down and mounted behind Gandalf and Aragorn, respectively. As they got themselves sorted out, Legolas quietly asked, “I wonder how long it shall take before the Halflings realize you’ve officially exchanged master for madam.”

Gimli grinned. “I’ll wager you one gold coin it takes them a week.”

“I’ll take that wager. I feel it shall be far longer, a fortnight or more. They are hardly the most observant of creatures,” Legolas said, and Gimli could hear the smile in his voice.

“If nothing else the lads will be terribly confused.”

Then the party was wading their horses into the water, and Gimli tensed up. It was the worst of boats and horses together, and the water was deep enough in places to lick at the bottom of her boots. A single step off the convoluted path they took, led by one of the Ents, and she’d be dragged down by her armor to Mahal only knew what depths. 

Legolas grasped one of her hands in his and squeezed lightly. “You shall not fall,” he said, just quietly enough for Gimli to hear. She could feel herself flushing, wildly embarrassed by her weakness. She pressed her forehead against Legolas’ spine and nodded, but said nothing.

It occurred to Gimli to wonder when she’d stopped fearing he would mock her and instead trusted him with her weaknesses. How very odd.


	9. At Edoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have returned with the Rohirrim to Edoras, and during the feast Legolas makes his move.

The noise of the hall was almost deafening, a cheerful roar that made Gimli nostalgic as she clutched her tankard of Rohan ale. After the soul-breaking grief of these past few days, everyone welcomed a chance to celebrate their own survival. She didn’t know the dances, but Gimli stood near to the impromptu band and tapped her booted foot along with the music.

Legolas walked up beside her, and Gimli cheerily lifted her tankard in his direction. He responded by raising his own glass, which by the smell of it held somewhat low-quality wine.

“Good party, isn’t it,” Gimli said over the noise. Legolas nodded, taking in the whirling dancers and the many happy drinkers. 

“Not like back home,” he said, stepping close and bending down to speak in her ear. “An elvish party this raucous would see half the attendees naked and dancing in the treetops.”

Gimli choked on her ale with laughter. Legolas smiled, his eyes fey and merry in the firelight.

“Might I have a word outside?” Legolas asked, so close by her ear that his breath stirred Gimli’s hair and gave her a shiver. Gimli nodded and set her tankard down on a convenient table, the elf following suit. Legolas offered his arm and, affecting a prim disposition that made Legolas smile, Gimli took his elbow and allowed herself to be led outside. Neither noticed Aragorn’s eyes following them as they excited, a faint smile upon his lips.

A wave of sound and light followed them out into the yard and was abruptly cut off by the closing door. Outside the cheer and warmth of the feasting hall, the wind was brisk; Gimli immediately curled into the elf’s side, feeling exposed without her usual layers, as she was dressed for an indoor gathering. Legolas gamely wrapped his arm about her shoulders. Like her, he was dressed for the party, though in elvish fashion- bare feet, leggings, and a loose linen shirt that he’d left partially unlaced, showing his collar bones and the beginning of his all-but-hairless but finely muscled chest. Gimli liked him this way, she decided, without the tension that had laid heavy on him—on all of them—in recent days. 

“Forth Eorlingas!” Gimli cried cheerfully, and was answered by happy shouts from the drunken men scattered about in the night. Legolas erupted into laughter, tripping on the stairs; they almost went down. 

“Mind yourself, y’majesty,” Gimli said, shoving the elf upright. 

“I am hardly affected,” Legolas said happily, giving Gimli a bright smile as they meandered their way into the village. “The wines at my father’s table are much, much-“ he burped quietly- “stronger.”

“I’m sure,” Gimli said dryly. The ale of the Rohirrim was a pleasant warmth in her belly, keeping the night’s chill at bay and making everything funnier than it probably was. Tipsy Legolas, for example, was absolutely hilarious when he wasn’t using her as an elbow rest.

“Stars,” Legolas blurted, and he grabbed her by the shoulder and led her away from the buildings and out into the fields beyond. “I should like to see stars.”

“I see stars fine right here,” Gimli protested, though she went easily enough, clasping one arm around Legolas’ hips to keep him steady. 

“The noise of the feast obstructs my gaze,” Legolas said seriously, and Gimli giggled despite herself, head bumping against the elf’s side. “Can’t have that.”

Laughing, they traipsed out into an open field, occasionally getting their legs tangled up, and finally collapsed in a giggling heap in a spot that seemed free of horse droppings. Legolas instantly flopped onto his back, arms akimbo, to stargaze; after a moment Gimli followed, head pressed against Legolas’ side, red hair a wild pouf around her. Legolas had to spit out a few errant strands, which set them off all over again.

Once they calmed, Legolas apparently decided to educate Gimli in elvish astronomy, but as he spoke entirely in elvish she didn’t understand a word of it, simply letting his speech wash over her. They lay there for some time, watching the stars slowly wheel by. There were no clouds, and the moon had set already, leaving the sky perfectly clear. The stars glimmered like small, perfect diamonds, and for a moment Gimli could understand the draw.

Eventually Gimli rested her head on Legolas’ upper arm—the grass was itchy and she was getting chilled—and he unthinkingly rested his hand on her hip, pulling her in closer while still gesturing with the other hand. She watched as he pointed out stars with one slim, pale arm, the unbuttoned cuff of his sleeve slipping down past his elbow. 

“S’my name,” Gimli said at length. “Star. In Khuzdul.”

Legolas’ arm fell back and he went up on one elbow, looking down at her upturned face. “Is it?” he asked quietly.

“Mmm,” Gimli affirmed. Legolas brushed her hair—unbound for the feast, now snarled and wild—away from her face, calluses catching ever so slightly, and she thoughtlessly turned into it. Her eyes drifted closed, and Legolas combed gently through her beard. It felt nice.

“Gimli…”

“Mmm?” Gimli opened her eyes, rolled into the elf’s side to see Legolas’ face above her more clearly, outlined by starlight, the orange glow of torches backlighting his hair, which was just as disheveled as hers. He looked strange, confused or stunned somehow. Gimli’s hand unconsciously grasped his shirt, knotting it up in her grasp.

“What?” she asked.

His thumb just barely brushed her lower lip, a bare whisper of a touch, as he regarded her with unusual intensity. Gimli gasped quietly as he cupped her jaw, long slim fingers tangled in her beard. He was so very close, their chests pressed together, and Gimli had the giddy thought that for once Arod wasn’t here as an excuse.

“If I were to say,” Legolas said softly, “that I felt more for you than friendship…”

Gimli’s breath froze in her lungs and left her speechless. She tightened her grasp on his shirt, trying to ground herself, but it wasn’t working. This had to be a dream.

“I thought to discover if you might feel the same,” Legolas whispered, so close she felt his breath upon her face. His thumb strayed across her mouth again—a silent question—and Gimli opened her eyes. Never had he looked to terrified, or so hopeful, his face limned in distant starlight.

“Silly elf,” Gimli whispered, and then his lips were on hers.

Legolas moved hesitantly, clumsily even, so Gimli took the lead, wrapping her hands in his corn silk hair and nipping at his lips. She licked at the seam of his mouth, and he let her in with a startled moan, his arms tightening around her as she tasted him, his hands clutching at her tunic. He grew bolder then, sliding his tongue against hers such that Gimli shivered helplessly. 

Legolas broke the kiss with a low gasp and pressed his forehead against hers. “I take it my feelings are requited, then?” he asked, laughing breathlessly. 

“Just a bit,” Gimli said dryly, and set to mouthing and sucking at Legolas’ pale, pointed ear, luxuriating the low, mewling sounds he made. Then quite suddenly she was on her back in the grass, Legolas hovering over her on his forearms, and any argument she might’ve had at being manhandled died when he kissed her, more firmly and confidently than before.

Gimli forgot all about the party, the wind, the faint smell of horse- all that mattered was Legolas, the taste of him, the press of his body against hers, the way he moaned into her mouth when she ran her hands under his shirt and her nails found purchase on the broad expanse of his back.

Eventually Legolas pulled back, burying his face in her shoulder. “We should talk about this,” he said, voice muffled. Gimli huffed out a laugh.

“Aye, we do, but you’re being terribly distracting,” she teased, and Legolas pulled back just enough to give her a half-hearted glare that swiftly melted into a fond smile.

“So are you.” Legolas stood, and gave Gimli a hand up. Though she barely reached his shoulder in height, it was no obstacle to him pressing a fleeting kiss to her lips as she stood, before tucking her against his side.

“It’s chilly, you should get back inside,” Legolas said, ignoring the ‘pppbbt’ of derision Gimli gave in response. “Might we discuss things in the morning?”

“I suppose that’ll do,” Gimli allowed, and for once allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of being pressed against Legolas’ side, his arm tight about her, fingers pressed into her ribs. She slung her own arm about his hips, grasping the fabric of his loose shirt. They walked like that, despite the awkwardness, back to the hall, ignoring the few muffled catcalls they attracted.

Just before the went in, Legolas pulled short, turning to meet her gaze. “Tomorrow, then?” he asked, eyes intense in the faint light.

“Absolutely,” Gimli said firmly, and pulled him down into one last kiss, soft and chaste, yet if there hadn’t been so many people about she’d have dragged him to her bedroll on the contained fire of this kiss alone, her every nerve alight and aware of him, the slow drag of his breath, the tiny shifts of his body as he pressed against her.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered against her mouth, and then they went in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously wrote about 6 versions of this thing. Hopefully this one works for you :)


	10. Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas talk things out. Total unrepentant fluff.

It was nearly dawn by the time the revelries ceased. Those who could meandered home and those too drunk or without other accommodations bedded down on any likely looking patch of rush-strewn wooden floor. There had hardly been silence for an hour before Pippin, the great idiot, got himself caught by the Palantir and had to be rescued by Gandalf and Aragorn. Then Gandalf swept off to Minas Tirith, the hobbit sent with him like so much troublesome baggage. 

Afterwards, the remainder of the Fellowship scattered, all with various feelings of heartsickness at the hobbit’s foolishness. Merry was particularly solemn, having said goodbye to his only kin in a foreign land. Gimli could certainly relate. 

For her part, Gimli was mired in uncertainty. The Palantir incident hung heavy on her heart, reminding her that whatever feelings she might harbor for Legolas—and she still didn’t know for sure what those were—this was hardly the time to start a romance, not with war looming on the horizon.

Gimli went seeking the elf anyway.

Legolas was out in the practice yard, slowly moving through knife forms with his twin blades. Gimli stopped well out of the way, watching as the movements of battle and death were transmuted into a delicate dance. Legolas seemed to move easily, but his muscles were taut, a fine mist of perspiration on his brow. He must’ve been at this for some time. If she’d had something other than her throwing axes she would have engaged the elf in sparring, but as it was Gimli only watched, enjoying Legolas’ mastery of his chosen weapons. And his bum, to be completely honest.

After a time, Legolas finished and sheathed his knives, turning to Gimli as he did. “Do I meet your approval, my lady?” he asked, mouth quirking into a smile as he wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. 

“I suppose you’ll do,” Gimli replied, returning the smile. “Do you have a moment?”

“Certainly. Though perhaps we should speak somewhere less open,” Legolas replied, glancing at the Men also practicing their war-craft about the yard. Gimli extended her hand to him, wriggling her fingers a bit.

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” she said, and Legolas took her hand. She went back into the great hall of Meduseld, tugging the elf slightly behind her.

It took a few moments, Gimli keenly aware of curious eyes as they walked hand-in-hand, but she shortly found an unoccupied chamber cluttered up with half-filled looms and the detritus of clothing production. There was no lock, so they simply had to hope no one would have cause to enter. 

With the door shut, the pair just stared at each other, suddenly awkward. Gimli dropped Legolas’ hand and clasped her own together before her.

“You said last night that we should talk,” Gimli prompted, feeling wrongfooted. Legolas nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

“I did,” he agreed. He took a lock of Gimli’s hair and toyed with it in his hands absently. Gimli let him, hoping he was gathering his thoughts and not merely dithering.

“I believe that there should be no misconceptions about what lies between us,” Legolas said, eyes on his hands and the red hair he was running his thumb over. 

Gimli covered his hands with her own, causing him to meet her gaze. “Speak plainly,” she urged. 

“You are my friend, first and always,” Legolas said intently, releasing the lock to wind his fingers through hers, his grip both strong and gentle. “The circumstances are not ideal, but I would very much like to-” he seemed to grope for words for a moment, “-to court you.”

Gimli pulled away, feeling the loss of his touch but needing a bit of distance. “Truly?” she asked faintly.

“I would,” Legolas confirmed.

“But that’s absurd,” Gimli said faintly. “There’s a war on, we’re different bloody species, the political implications alone-“

“Gimli, _meleth nin_ ,” Legolas interrupted, reaching for her again; Gimli allowed him to take her hand, to rub his thumb across the back, but she was still somewhat stunned.

“A single tryst, I thought, an understanding between shield-mates,” Gimli found herself babbling. “Many fellow warriors take comfort in each other. You cannot possibly be interested in me as, as some kind of _wife_. Da would have kittens! And I can’t cook, you kn-“

“Gimli,” Legolas said long-sufferingly. Gimli looked at him sharply but bit back the flurry of words. “You are free to decide as you will, and I will remain your friend,” Legolas said, his gaze intense but his voice soft. “But elves only love once. You deserve to know my heart on this matter.”

“This is absurd,” Gimli said again, utterly flabbergasted at what was essentially a marriage proposal. “You’ve known me only a matter of months, Legolas.”

“A matter of months, yes,” he agreed easily, and Gimli faintly noticed that he was pulling her closer, but could not mind it. “But time enough to know your disposition, to learn the different ways you smile, time enough to know the beauty of your hair and wish to wrap myself in it like a cloak.” They were standing flush, and Legolas brushed a hand through her hair, along the line of her jaw, and Gimli simply couldn’t keep her pessimism intact against such an assault. She closed her eyes and let her head thud against Legolas’ breastbone, his soft ‘oof’ startling a smile out of her. His arms curled around her, holding her close.

“Oh, all right then,” she mumbled against his chest. As if she could argue with him, with the light in his eyes and the warmth of his touch. He was sincere, and the knowledge warmed her, even if her contrary nature kept her from saying so. She could feel him petting her hair, twining his fingers in it, the silly romantic elf.

“All I wanted was a bloody snog,” Gimli grumbled. Legolas laughed, his chest vibrating against Gimli’s cheek, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“I shall do my best, my lady,” he said, the cheeky blighter, smiling and lit from within. Gimli could hardly let that go, and when she went up on her toes Legolas willingly met her in the middle, still smiling into the kiss.

They found an upholstered bench—probably for the benefit of absent clothes-sewers—and managed to lie alongside each other comfortably enough for Gimli to get her promised snog. There wasn’t the desperation of the previous night; their touches were slow and languid, building a comfortable warmth in Gimli’s belly as she explored the planes of Legolas’ back under his tunic, the way his whole body trembled when she flicked her tongue just so. He was still clumsy, but that quickly faded, his confidence growing enough to ruck up her tunic a bit and run his thumb along the narrow strip of exposed skin, setting off lightning in her. 

She grew bolder, caressing his chest while she sucked a mark into his collar-bone and he moaned breathily into her hair. But when she flicked his nipple with her thumbnail, he gave a very undignified yelp right in her ear and jumped about a foot in the air. Gimli, aghast, did nothing to stop herself falling off the bench and onto the floor with a painful thud.

“Goblin’s tits!” Gimli blurted. “What’s wrong with you?”

Legolas looked down at her sheepishly, blushing furiously, his hair a mess. “My apologies,” he said. “I was unprepared?”

Gimli hoisted herself up. “I should say so,” she grumped, and sat on the edge of the bench, Legolas’ thighs warm behind her. Mood utterly ruined and her backside sore, she started trying to put her hair to rights, finger-combing through the tangles.

Legolas propped his head in his elbow and watched her. “You may have noticed that I am not terribly adept at love play,” he said mildly. 

“I did, at that.” Gimli found a particularly nasty knot and yanked at it, hard. Legolas sat up, and managed to seat himself behind her, her hips bracketed by his thighs. Gimli sighed gustily as he gently pulled her hair out of her grasp and began picking apart the knots with far gentler motions than she’d been using. 

“I have never had occasion to engage in it before,” Legolas said, and Gimli tilted her head back to see his face. He smiled down at her, cheeks slightly pinkened but otherwise unembarrassed. 

“Not at all? Even with the naked dance parties?” she asked half-teasingly. Legolas shrugged and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“I simply did not feel the need.”

“I suppose I am flattered, then.” Gimli leaned back against him as he finished with her hair. He rested his chin on her head, embracing her about the waist. “You’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

“You have been an excellent tutor thus far.” Legolas kissed the side of her neck, but it was comfortable rather than passionate, simple affection.

Gimli rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Silly elf,” she mumbled, and let herself relax into Legolas’ arms. It was extremely pleasant, being held like this.

They stayed that way, silent and content, for some time. The future was wildly uncertain, but Gimli felt certain that she would do most anything to make sure they went forward together, whatever that might look like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meleth nin - my love


	11. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli gets stuck in her head and does something really stupid.

Gimli did not stay comfortable for long.

The mood in Meduseld remained tense. Aragorn was determined to convince the king to go to Gondor’s aid, and Legolas and Gimli remained to support their friend. Gimli had half a mind to go haring off to Minas Tirith on her own, though. 

Gimli could not be in Legolas’ company at all times, and she found her doubts and fears preying on her with increasing intensity. She had given up her initial objections, but that did not mean they were without merit. She and Legolas were both scions of noble houses, with all the obligations that implied, and to take up with a lover from a traditionally loathed species was political suicide. Wars had been fought over less.

Gimli sat staring out over the horse paddocks, gnawing compulsively on her pipe stem, even though she hadn’t had anything to smoke in it for days. She’d spent ages in the practice yard, and ages more sharpening her axes and caring for her armor, but she still felt seized by anxious energy. So, she sat and brooded, hardly feeling the crisp air.

Erebor and Mirkwood were nominally allies, but really they just ignored each other. Neither had forgotten the slights felt during the reclamation of the Lonely Mountain. An elf and a dwarf together would almost certainly stir up bad blood, and King Thranduil would have a tizzy of truly epic proportions. Gimli wouldn’t be surprised in the pair of them were banished from Rhovanion altogether.

And even if they were not, it had been heavily implied by the nobility of Erebor that once she returned, Gimli had best set to providing heirs for her family. There was no way she could do so if she took up with an elf- even if it were possible, such a child would be a pariah at best, utterly rejected at worst. 

Gimli grumbled under her breath and stashed her pipe away lest she splinter it entirely. Left without something to fiddle with, she started picking at the hem of her cloak, at the tiny shreds of grass adhering to the wool. No matter how well she and Legolas got on, they were deeply, fundamentally different. Their very cultures stood in opposition to each other. She could no more be happy living in a tree house than Legolas would be living in a cave. The stress of the journey had brought them together, but the stress of trying to actually be together would almost certainly tear them apart.

Gimli dropped her face in her hands, sighing heavily. There was nothing for it, no matter how it made her heart ache. Better to end things now and go back to being merely friends, than be utterly torn asunder by the realities of life outside of Meduseld.

She did not move for a long time.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

The evening meal had very nearly finished. Legolas and Aragorn still lingered over empty plates, speaking quietly in Elvish, their voices somber. Gimli had not eaten, but she felt like she had a rock in her belly as she approached.

“Evening,” she greeted them. Aragorn only nodded, but Legolas smiled, gesturing to the bench at his side.

“You were missed at table,” Legolas said. “I am sure there’s-“

“Not hungry,” Gimli interrupted gruffly. “Not to interrupt, but I thought we might have a word?”

Legolas’ brow knit slightly, but he turned to Aragorn, who cut him off before he could even speak.  
“ _Mín tur_ ,” Aragorn said, waving him off. “ _Pedo melethril chín._ ” He raised an eyebrow, smirking under his short beard.

Legolas nodded slightly, not really hearing the Ranger’s words, and stood, turning to Gimli. “I am at your leisure,” he said. Gimli nodded towards the door and Legolas followed, giving Aragorn a friendly thump on the shoulder as he passed.

Legolas must have noticed Gimli’s tension, because he remained silent, but sought Gimli’s hand, twining his long slim fingers between Gimli’s shorter, thicker ones. Gimli hadn’t the heart to refuse him and selfishly returned his grip, brushing her thumb over his knuckles and trying to memorize the texture of his skin.

Gimli brought them to the small chamber set aside for the Three Hunter’s use. Gimli was usually chivvied to the women’s quarters to sleep, so only Legolas and Aragorn’s bedrolls were there, spare clothing and weapons scattered about. As soon as the door was closed Legolas pulled Gimli into a tight embrace, his chin resting on her hair.

“I have hardly see you at all today,” he said. “What ails you, _meleth menui nin_?”

Gimli wanted nothing more than to sink into his embrace and forget everything that had passed her mind over the course of the past days. Instead her skin prickled with the awareness of how illicit their relationship really was. She pressed her forehead against Legolas’ collarbone, drawing strength from his steadiness.

“I find my heart is troubled.”

Legolas drew back, put a hand to Gimli’s jaw to tip her face back and meet her eyes. “With what?” The hand still on Gimli’s back tightened, betraying the elf’s discontent.

Gimli could hardly speak, yet she felt she must. “I fear what may come of our association,” she said slowly, feeling like the words were being dragged from her lips. “What it would mean for us, among our peoples. You cannot think I would be accepted at your father’s court.”

Legolas looked confused, his usually smooth brow wrinkled. “My father? What-“

“We have obligations, Legolas, obligations that would not allow this sort of thing,” Gimli interrupted. Now that she had begun, she could hardly keep it all inside. “There are certain to be consequences.”

Legolas was becoming distressed. He grasped her by the hips, eyes intense. “I don’t care,” he said, almost desperately. “That is a concern for the future, not now.”

Gimli rested her hands on his arms. “The future is never far away.”

Legolas shook his head. “Gimli, _meleth nin_ , please tell me you do not mean to end this. I could hardly stand it.”

Gimli’s chest was tight. “It will be worse if we do not,” she said hoarsely. 

“Gimli, please. _Na melethril nin, bereth nin. Dorthan ah nin_.”

“You know I don’t speak Elvish,” Gimli said fiercely. “Legolas-“

Legolas surged forward, catching her in a deep, desperate kiss; Gimli responded despite herself, going on her toes as his tongue slid past her lips, tasting her deeply. She wasn’t sure how, but she suddenly was pressed against the wall, trapped against Legolas’ chest. His hands slid under her thighs and he hoisted her up with deceptive ease, the change in elevation making kissing easier. She automatically wrapped her legs around his hips, for stability; Legolas moaned softly, pressing her so hard into the wall it was like he was trying to cold-weld them into a singular being. His fingers would surely leave bruises on her thighs. Gimli didn’t care. She wrapped his hair around her fingers, pulling just enough to draw a low groan from Legolas-

Gimli broke the kiss with a gasp. “Legolas, stop,” she cried out, and immediately he let her drop back to the floor, though he kept pressing her into the wall. He was trembling, Gimli noted distantly. Well, so was she.

There was a long pause as they caught their breath, Legolas breathing harshly into her hair. 

“Gimli, please,” Legolas whispered, and he sounded so very broken that Gimli felt it pierce her like a sword.

“We can’t,” Gimli murmured back, her voice muffled in the fabric of his tunic. “You know I’m right.”

He still did not step back, and Gimli felt a treacherous desire to pull him back into another searing kiss, to forget all the outside world and drag him to the bedroll. But it would only make things worse, when things outside this small room caught up to them.

Eventually Legolas let out a long, shuddering sigh. “ _Savil míl nin_ ,” he murmured into her hair, and finally he released her, stepping back just enough that they were no longer touching, though his hands are still pressed on the wall at her sides, propping him up. Gimli could hardly bear to look at him, he looked so tragic. 

“I am sorry,” Gimli said. 

She knows this cannot be, that they have to return to being friends. Even so, she did not protest when Legolas gave her one last, chaste kiss, his lips barely ghosting across hers. She couldn’t help but respond, though she tucked her hands behind her to keep from touching him. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, then stepped back. 

“I will respect your choice,” Legolas said softly, “though I cannot agree with you. I will remain, as always, your true friend and companion.” He pressed one clenched fist to his breast and bowed, eyes on the floor.

“I wish you every happiness.”

Then he was gone.

Gimli stayed only long enough to regain her composure. Then she too fled, thankful for the first time that she was welcome in the women’s quarters and need not face him again until the morrow.

She did not cry.

And in the morning, the beacons were lit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish translations
> 
>  
> 
> Mín tur: (we can) talk later
> 
> Pedo melethril chín: speak (with) your lover 
> 
> meleth menui nin: my sweet love
> 
> meleth nin: my love
> 
> Na melethril nin, bereth nin. Dorthan ah nin: Be my lover, my wife/spouse. Stay/dwell with me.
> 
> Savil míl nin: you have my love
> 
> For the record, figuring out the Elvish lines took about the same about of time as writing the rest of the chapter! I used [this](https://www.elfdict.com/), [this](http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/sindarin_grammar.htm) and [this](http://funtranslations.com/sindarin) to help me get it together


	12. Dunharrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli is starting to understand that the consequences she is so afraid of are unavoidable.

For all that Théoden had been dragging his feet, once the signal came from Gondor he urged his people to almost instantaneous action. Three days later, the entire scattered military might of Rohan is gathered on the slopes of Dunharrow, visible from the highest camp where Gimli and the others accompanied the king. 

The ride out had been awful. Gimli and Legolas doubled up on Arod, as per their custom. Gimli managed to fortify herself against being pressed up her former beau, close enough to read the small adjustments he made to the horse’s gait and to become terribly familiar with the delicacy of the bone structure in his ribs and spine. She absolutely did not wallow in it, even if she wanted to. 

Sometimes they talked and sang and were merry, falling back into easy companionship. But then one or the other of them would remember, and stiffen, and a dark silence would fall, occasionally for hours, only broken when someone else—usually Aragorn—engaged Gimli or Legolas in conversation. Gimli was strangely glad they were unable to see each other’s faces when this happened, so she could not see Legolas’ emotions shining in his pale eyes.

Now, having arrived at camp, Legolas had left to care of Arod while Gimli started a fire. She was just getting it going solidly, the flames licking up the wood, when Aragorn appeared out of the dusk and plopped down beside her.

“You have no idea what you have done, do you,” he said flatly, with no preamble, and Gimli raised an eyebrow at the Ranger.

“Pardon?”

“To Legolas,” Aragorn said, stripping off his vambraces with rather more force than necessary. “He will never say a word, the poor sod, so it’s left to me.”

“I fail to see how it’s any of your business,” Gimli said stiffly. She went to stand, but then Aragorn’s words pinned her in place like a butterfly on cork. 

“He will say he is only your friend, but he has already given his heart to you and will never reclaim it, or even try. Legolas will walk beside you all the days of your life. He will support you, a true friend, when you go back to your people, when you marry some unimpressive dwarf, when you take up the business of your mountain. He will only ever be what you allow him. And someday, when you are old and the days of your life are spent, he will be there beside you as you pass from this world, always your truest, most stalwart friend. And when you are gone, he will lie down at your side and die of grief.”

Aragorn’s glare was both flat and terribly fierce. Gimli’s mouth went dry. 

“Aragorn…”

“Yes?”

Gimli had no words, and even if she did, she would never be able to force them past the horrible stabbing pain under her breastbone. Aragorn stared at her, hard, then made a huffing noise and shook his head, softening only slightly.

“You are afraid,” he said, blunt and yet not unkind. “And while I imagine you do have responsibilities to your people, none could be so great as that which you willingly took on with Legolas, and then abandoned because of your own fears. You are not the dwarf I thought you were.”

Aragorn left, and Gimli sat staring into nothing, his words settling into her heart like sludge in a pond and leaving her cold. 

She was not sure how long she sat there, staring into the flames and trying to sort her life into something sensible. When Legolas returned, bearing two bowls of steaming food, she startled slightly, ignoring the curious glance the elf gave her along with her food.

“Best to get what rest we may,” Legolas said as he settled in, balancing his bowl on one leg as he sat. “If we are to depart at dawn, the entire assemblage will be up and moving by the time the moon sets.”

Gimli made a noncommittal noise and poked at her food—some kind of oatmeal—with the accompanying horn spoon. It tasted even worse than it looked.

“Gimli?”

Gimli looked up. Legolas sat there, lit by firelight, his face open and guileless, and everything Aragorn had said came back, choking her, as Gimli looked at the one person she really wanted and yet could never have.

“Yes?”

“All you well?”

Gimli forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “As well as I can be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's super short, but some of my other chapters have been too... I've had that monologue of Aragorn's in my head for days, you guys


	13. On the River - Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli attempts to explain herself

Even if they had wanted to speak on the Paths of the Dead, the atmosphere was suffocating. To even draw breath felt like a chore; to speak of anything more than what was necessary would have been impossible.

After Aragorn confronted the dead king, there was the long trek down to the river to manage. Then, they had to discover how three people and a host of ghosts could sail a fleet of ships down the Anduin. Eventually the undead army discovered the trick of it, and the Three Hunters were unexpectedly at their leisure for the duration of the trip.

Gimli decided she could come to like boats, if they were all so well-behaved as the one they now occupied. Its size mitigated much of the rocking motion that had so distressed her in the elven canoes, and she found that standing on the prow with the wind on her face could be quite refreshing.

The trio were sitting beneath the mainmast, tending to their equipment. Gimli had torn out the knee of her trousers and was sewing them up, since she only had the two pair. Her stitches were clumsy but serviceable. The other two were oiling their blades, chatting away in elvish as usual. She didn’t resent it much anymore- Aragorn had mentioned in passing that he’d been raised among elves, and who was she to pout when someone enjoyed speaking their mother tongue. She herself sometimes missed the rasping tones of khuzdul.

Gimli’s mind wandered as she sewed, letting her hands carry on without conscious input. It had been months since she’d seen or heard from her family. She wondered how things back home were getting on.

Gimli felt a hand on her shoulder and startled very slightly, looking up to see Aragorn looming over her. He looked pointedly at Legolas, gave her an expectant look, and then was gone. Gimli huffed under her breath- meddling ranger. Still, she looked at the elf, taking in the way he hunched into himself. His hair kept falling into his face, and he would brush it behind him, but a moment later it fell forward again.

“Your hair is bloody ridiculous,” Gimli blurted. Legolas looked up, surprised.

“What?”

“Your hair. Mayhap whatever you’ve done to it is fashionable for elves, but it’s incredibly impractical.”

Legolas smiled faintly. “Your hair is the longest I’ve ever seen. That is hardly practical, either.”

“At least I keep it properly secured,” Gimli retorted. “I don’t know how you can stand having all that flying about all the time.”

“You are welcome to change it to your satisfaction, of course,” Legolas said mildly, clearly amused. “I will point out, however, that I have worn my hair in this manner for several centuries and never had any problems with it.”

“Never-!” Gimli huffed. He was clearly having a problem right in front of her face, the idiot. She got up and went behind Legolas, swiftly undoing the tiny little braids. Legolas let her get on with it without comment, though he obligingly held still.

His hair was much finer than hers, and felt silky and warm in her hands. Gimli just finger-combed it for a moment, considering, and then wound the whole of it into a bun at the base of Legolas’ neck, making sure it was tight and flat against his skull to keep it out of the way. Once it was secured, she dropped her hands to Legolas’ shoulders, and he immediately felt at it, fingers probing gently.

“I thought you’d braid it, like yours.”

“This is better for archery. I’m surprised you don’t tangle it in your bowstring with it down.”

Legolas tipped his head back and smiled up at her. “I am certain it is quite serviceable,” he said, still amused but also content, his face open and relaxed, his shoulders loose under her hands. Gimli smiled back, feeling a surge of affection for him. 

“You say you’ve lived centuries, but how a silly elf like you managed not to trip over a rock and die is beyond me,” she said teasingly. Legolas huffed a soft laugh and let his head thump back against her belly.

“Well, now you are here to be certain I do not,” Legolas replied cheerfully. His eyes sparkled with good humor.

Gimli gave him a pat on the shoulder and then sat cross-legged beside him, their knees just barely touching. Legolas gave her a curious glance, then went back to tending to his gear, though Gimli noticed that his posture was much more open. The realization left a lump in her throat. He deserved better from her.

“I was practically a street urchin, you know,” Gimli blurted, surprising herself. Legolas looked up, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“As child, in Ered Luin,” Gimli continued. Legolas set down his things, giving her his full attention. Gimli, however, looked down at her hands and fiddled with the hem of her tunic.

“We were dirt poor,” Gimli said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “My parents worked hard, but my family—the whole community—was just starting to get on their feet when Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim Erebor. I wanted desperately to go, after all my father went, but I wasn’t of age and my mother needed me. I wouldn’t have been much help anyway, I had barely any weapons training, since I’d started working in the iron mines by the time I was forty. That’s very young,” she added, glancing up to see Legolas looking confused.

“Anyway.” Gimli sighed. “When they took back the mountain, overnight I went from a half-starved child miner to a bloody nob- practically a _princess_ , everyone got so obsessed with my being the only dam of the Line of Durin. Soon as we got to Erebor, it was being taught diplomacy and arms training and manners, and I had fine clothes and food and all the pretty trinkets my little heart could want. I actually had time and space to learn more than how to grade iron ore. I became part of Dáin Ironfoot’s court, helping to settle the returning dwarrow, to make sure that no other children had to live with the hardships I had to.”

Gimli finally looked at Legolas, his brow wrinkled very slightly. She patted him on the knee. “So you see,” she said, “I owe my people everything. I owe Erebor everything. I am only here, representing my people on this quest, because we retook the mountain. After everything that has been done for me, to bring me out of poverty to where and who I am now, I cannot turn my back on people.”

Legolas nodded very slowly. “Once this war is done with,” he said, slowly and deliberately, “you will go back to them, and take up your place in the government.”

“Essentially, yes.”

There was a long pause as Legolas mulled this over. Gimli picked at her hem some more, hardly daring to even think. 

“And will that make you happy?”

Gimli frowned, studying Legolas’ face, but he was blank, simply waiting for her reply. She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about what will make me happy, it’s about responsibility.” She looked down at her hands again, uncomfortable and unsure why.

Legolas’ hand suddenly rested on hers, pausing her fretting. Gimli stared at it, the long narrow palm and graceful fingers. He turned her hand palm up, gently winding their fingers together, and brushed his thumb along the blade of her hand. Gimli shivered despite herself.

“I cannot believe,” Legolas said, his voice low, “that your father went through such trials to secure your future, only for you to spend it in responsibility. There is more to life.”

Gimli could not think of a response. They just sat there, silent, hands clasped, until Aragorn returned from wherever he’d been below decks and they all went back to their previous tasks.


	14. Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of the Pelennor, Gimli and Legolas both make mistakes, and it only makes things worse.

Once, the Pelennor had been a verdant farmland. Now it was a nightmare-scape of death, a stinking bog of blood and ichor and the cries of the wounded. Not even the walls of Minas Tirith could completely block the sound- or the smell.

Aragorn had gone straight to the Houses of Healing, trailing prophecy in his wake. Gimli and Legolas had followed as an impromptu honor guard, but Aragorn had quickly turned them away, firmly but kindly. They would be of better use elsewhere, assisting to shore up the walls or to bring in the wounded from the field. As foreigners in an unfamiliar city, however, the two had quickly fetched up in an empty alley, unsure of where to go.

Gimli stripped her filthy helmet and leather skullcap, then her gloves, letting all fall haphazardly to the stones. She was finally coming down from the high of battle and the cool air felt like a balm. This battle had been particularly brutal. She’d never seen warriors crushed like that before, stomped into the grass like insects by a foot the size of an entire horse. 

“Gimli?”

Gimli looked up. Legolas was practically hovering over her, concern writ large across his improbably clean face. “What?”

“You’re trembling. Are you injured?”

Gimli looked down at her hands in faint surprise. There were indeed shaking slightly, the sudden absence of the battle-fury leaving her weak. She couldn’t remember it having been this bad in decades. “No,” Gimli said slowly. “I feel fine, it’s just… the fighting’s done, you know.”

Legolas took her hands, and with the rough gentleness of a field medic probed at them, then her arms, her shoulders, ribs, hips, kneeling to check her legs and then standing again to check her neck and head. Gimli submitted to all with vague amusement and a growing fondness. As if she hadn’t already checked herself for injury, the silly elf.

“You seem well, though who can tell with all armor that on you,” Legolas finally concluded, meeting her gaze with a slight smile as he stroked at her neck, running his fingers down the vertebrae. It tingled a bit.

“And you? I don’t think I ever saw an opponent land a blow on you.”

Legolas sniffed delicately, though his eyes danced. “As if they could.”

Gimli choked out a laugh. She felt a bit chill, suddenly, despite the layers of cloth and armor, and leaned forward against the elf, who embraced her without hesitation. She was shaking all over, now, she distantly noted, though hopefully it would end soon. It never lasted long. 

Gimli had faced cave trolls, of course, and every form of war machine the orcs could contrive, but those oliphaunts had been a beast apart. Their drivers had delighted in the carnage they caused, in squashing warriors like insects. The one with the roller-bar between its tusks had very nearly squashed her, before Legolas swooped in and neatly killed the thing, bringing it down practically at her feet. She’d feared for her companions before, but to see the fool elf running at the beast and its complement of riders like it was nothing… Gimli shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with battle-fury. Legolas’ arms tightened around her.

“I’ll be fine,” Gimli mumbled into Legolas’ leathers. “It’s fine.” He was fine, after all.

Legolas’ hand came up under her jaw, tipping her face back. Any good humor in his gaze was gone, replaced by concern, his brow furrowed very slightly. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice low. Gimli found herself knotting her hands in his clothing, though he didn’t protest. His eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

“Mm-hmm.”

Legolas placed a delicate kiss—barely a brush—on her brow. Gimli’s breath caught, her eyelids fluttering. Legolas’ fingers twitched against her skin.

Gimli wasn’t sure what exactly happened, but suddenly they were kissing—really kissing—her back pressed against the stone as he nipped at her tongue, his hands seemingly everywhere. Gimli pulled him as tight against her as she could manage, despite all the layers.

Oh, she had missed this- missed _him_. The distance of the past weeks vanished, not to mention the entire universe beyond the feel of him, the way he moaned when she tugged at his hair, the slide of his skin under her palm where she snaked it up under his clothes, the noises he drew from her when he bit her lip and instantly soothed it again with his tongue, the sensation running like fire through her core-

Legolas drew back with a gasp. “I’m sorry, you said-“ he babbled.

“Shut up,” Gimli growled, and he offered no resistance when she pressed her mouth to his once again.

Several long minutes later, they had to stop just to breathe; Legolas was panting heavily against her ear, and now he was the one shaking. Gimli let the wall hold her up, and felt like she might be holding him up in turn, grasping him about the hips.

Eventually they both calmed. Legolas straightened, brushing stray hairs from Gimli’s face as he searched her expression for… something.

“This does not change anything, does it,” Legolas said, almost flat, and Gimli felt the breath freeze in her lungs.

“What?” she choked out.

Legolas’ eyes darkened slightly. “You are still going to insist that we pretend we are only friends to each other, that none of this— “he gestured between them— “means anything.”

“Legolas, of course it does, but- “

“It certainly seems like you only seek out my affections when it is convenient for you,” Legolas said, and now Gimli realized that he was _angry_ , he was so very cold and still it felt like she had suddenly taken up conversation with a statue. She felt her own ire rising in response. 

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Gimli spat. Legolas stepped back, folding his arms, looking down on her distantly. He was too bloody tall, Gimli thought irritably.

“Then what just happened? If you were with Aragorn instead-“

“You bastard _gurnvos’comys_ ,” Gimli hissed. 

“What am I meant to-“

Gimli threw her arms in the air. “Because I _love you_ , you moron! Because we almost _died_! Because all this pretending, all this trying to decide _what the hell I’m supposed to do_ , it’s exhausting, and all you can say is that being stressed by it all makes me some kind of whore!”

Legolas remained silent, cold and distant, and Gimli felt the exhaustion of everything crash down on her all at once.

“Fine.” She wrenched out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m just a silly _girl_ , and a dwarf besides, how dare I have even spoken to a high noble _prince of elves_.” Moving furiously, Gimli picked up the things she’d abandoned earlier. She took one last look at Legolas’ face, and he remained blank. 

“ _Imrid amrad ursul_ , you prick,” Gimli snarled, voice breaking, and then she stomped away. She didn’t know where she was going and didn’t care, as long as it was away from that alley and that elf and the horrible, stabbing pain his blank stare had burned into her.

After she left, Legolas stood there staring after her for a long time. Eventually his face collapsed on itself and he sank to the cold stone street, burying his face in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All khuzdul taken directly from [here](https://www.wattpad.com/107680645-dwarvish-insults)
> 
> gurnvos’comys - tree shagger
> 
> Imrid amrad ursul - lit. die a death of fire


	15. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas attempts to patch things up

Legolas did not move for a long time.

Night fell. The moon rose, though it was halfway across the sky by the time its light pooled on the street beyond the alley. Legolas watched the shadows slowly shifting, until the moon had passed behind some obstruction and the street was dark again. Then, finally, he stood, shaking the slight numbness from his limbs. 

He had been a complete ass.

Legolas had no idea where Gimli had gone, or where to start looking, or even if she would tolerate his company. Her temper had always been quick to ignite, but equally quick to cool; he had never seen her so incandescently angry before. 

The city was silent, in these dark hours after midnight. This district, halfway up the hill of the city, was mostly intact, and though he could hear sleeping Men in their shelters there was no sign of life out on the street. It was eerie, after the chaos of the previous day.

She wasn’t at the Houses of Healing. Aragorn was still awake, blearily tending to Éowyn and Merry. When Legolas asked if he’d seen the dwarf, the Ranger glared at him.

“What have you two done this time?” Aragorn demanded, pitching his voice low so as not to disturb his patients. “ _Gi fuion_. I have never encountered a pair of such pig-headed, ridiculous-“

“Yes, yes, I am the greatest of idiots and chiefest of calamities to ever enter your sight,” Legolas said impatiently. “But do you know where she is?”

Aragorn shook his head, huffing his disdain. “No, she hasn’t been here since I chased the pair of you off earlier. What happened?”

“I said something deeply stupid,” Legolas replied grimly. “I thank you.”

If Gimli didn’t want to be found, there was nothing for it, but Legolas headed towards the palace complex anyway. Thankfully, there were guards there who could direct him to the officer’s barracks, where a perturbed-looking dwarf had been given a room the previous evening at Gandalf’s order.

Legolas quickly found the correct door. He hesitated, dread a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, but this was no time for cowardice. He rapped lightly on the door.

“Yes?” came the faint reply. Legolas cracked the door open.

“It’s me,” he called quietly. 

“Oh, come on then,” Gimli called back wearily, and Legolas slipped through the door, making sure to close it gently behind him.

The room was small, furnished only with a Man-sized bed, a chest, and a simple chair. Gimli sat in it before the open window, curled up in her elven cloak, facing out into the city. Dawn was just barely breaking, lighting Gimli’s freckled face in watery blue light.

Legolas hovered by the door, still unsure of his welcome here. Gimli looked up at him, and there was weariness writ large across her features, the smudges beneath her eyes so dark Legolas wondered if she had slept any more than he had this night. 

“It took me hours to find you,” Legolas said, voice soft. The atmosphere still felt tender and raw from their confrontation earlier. “Aragorn is quite cross with me,” he added, and was rewarded with Gimli’s faint smile, though she remained silent.

Legolas chanced to move deeper into the room, perching on the end of the bed. “I cannot apologize enough,” he said, voice going hoarse. “I never thought such things, nor meant them when I spoke.”

“I know,” Gimli said heavily, her eyes flickering to his. “You were right, though, about my being fickle.”

“ _Meleth nin_ -“

“I flew off at the handle, like the blockhead I am,” Gimli interrupted dryly, “but you were right about me. Aragorn called me a coward- he’s right, too.”

Legolas was struck dumb. Gimli gave him a self-deprecating smile as the dawning light shifted towards pink and orange, setting her hair and beard afire. 

“I have all these concerns,” Gimli said slowly, beginning to pick at her cloak, “but really they’re excuses, because I’m afraid.”

Legolas still had no words. He folded his hands in his lap, looking at Gimli attentively.

“I’ve had lovers before, but you…” Gimli shrugged helplessly. “I suppose I got overwhelmed and hid in… obligations.” Her mouth quirked wryly.

“What now, then?” Legolas asked, gesturing helplessly. “I cannot stand this. To even be in your presence is to feel my whole being afire. You may continue to deny us this, but to stay by your side as only a friend would be the very end of me.” Legolas spoke only with base certainty, not even a hint of pleading in his voice.

Gimli bit her lip, suddenly more vulnerable than Legolas had ever seen her- not a proud warrior, or dwarven princess, but a woman with her heart exposed. He wanted fiercely to go to her, scoop her up from that awful chair and press her to his breast- but did not, knowing their conversation was still too delicate and raw for such an action. Ever so, he yearned to comfort her.

“It would for me, as well,” Gimli confessed softly. The light was very nearly full day now, making her hazel eyes glimmer like the gems of her people.

Legolas’ heart was in his throat. “Perhaps, then, we might leave the duties of our people to the future, and have what we may now.”

Gimli quirked an eyebrow. “One day at time, style of thing?”

“Yes.”

Gimli paused, considering, for a long moment. Finally she stood, dragging the cloak with her. No longer curled up, Legolas could see she wore only a loose blue tunic underneath, her legs and feet bare, her ankles surprisingly delicate. He watched the bones shifting under the skin as she moved to stand before him. Her eyes soft, Gimli ran her fingers over his cheek. Legolas held his breath.

“ _Sanazyung menu_ ,” Gimli murmured. “Forgive my foolishness, and I would be yours all the days of my life.”

Legolas’ breath rushed out with a whoosh. “Always,” he said fervently. Gimli let out a low huff of laughter, her eyes shining in the dim light. Then she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Legolas’ lips.

It was soft and gentle, but didn’t stand that way for long. Legolas pulled Gimli onto the bed beside him, and then lay full-length, Gimli’s body sliding along his as they moved. Gimli laughed against his mouth as they tried to arrange their arms without breaking the kiss, nipping his lower lip.

Legolas broke the kiss only to suck love-marks into Gimli’s collarbone, catching the leg she’d thrown over his hip and running his hand up the back of her thigh to feel the warmth of her skin. 

“Feeling…adventurous?” Gimli asked, breath coming in gasps.

“Mm,” Legolas hummed, applying his teeth to a deepening purple mark. Gimli moaned softly- only to break it off in a yawn.

Legolas sat up on his elbow, looking down at Gimli, who was distinctly sheepish. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” he asked mildly.

“A little, possibly,” Gimli said slowly. “Mostly I was busy brooding,” she confessed, scrunching up her face in embarrassment. 

Legolas sighed, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Go to sleep, _melethril_ ,” he said. “You need to rest. I shan’t go anywhere,” he added, at Gimli’s disgruntled look. 

“It’s very rude, getting me all fired up first,” Gimli grumbled, but Legolas laid on his back and Gimli curled into him, one hand on his chest.

“Sleep, _meleth nin_ ,” Legolas murmured, running his hand in circles on Gimli’s back. Gimli gave him one last dirty look, before closing her eyes and dropping off distressingly fast. She really did need rest.

Legolas lay there, arms full of his love, and let himself nod off beside her.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gi fuion: I am disgusted with you
> 
> Meleth nin: my love
> 
> Sanazyung menu: (khuzdul) my perfect love
> 
> Melethril: lover (fem.)


	16. In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut happens.

By the time Gimli awoke, the light indicated it was mid-afternoon. Legolas had gone somewhere, which wasn’t surprising. His unstrung bow and quiver were propped up in the corner, so he couldn’t have gone far.

Gimli pulled on her only clean trousers to visit the communal washroom down the hall. The officer’s barracks was mostly empty, so she didn’t encounter anyone else. 

Back in her room, Gimli was combing through her massive fall of hair when Legolas returned, bearing a linen-wrapped package of what was probably food. Gimli nodded vaguely at him, preoccupied with a stubborn knot.

Legolas immediately set aside his bundle and sat beside her. “May I?” he asked. Gimli handed him the comb and let him carry on, relaxing by increments as he gently untangled her hair. It was really quite excessive, thick and heavy and unruly, but no self-respecting dwarf would cut their own hair except in deep mourning. Not even the loss of Gandalf in Moria had been enough, though she’d considered it.

Eventually Legolas finished, but he kept running his hands through her hair, stroking her head. Gimli was all but purring, it felt so lovely, and Legolas chuckled warmly.

“Do you want it braided back?”

“No, leave it,” Gimli mumbled, letting her head fall back against the elf’s shoulder. Legolas made a soft humming noise and swept her hair to the side, pressing a kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Gimli turned, wrapping Legolas’ collar around her hand to pull him down for a proper kiss. It was warm and affectionate, without the desperation that had marked so many of their touches before. It warmed Gimli, filling her with a happiness like fizzy wine.

Legolas pulled back first, his gaze soft but otherwise unreadable. “I spoke with Aragorn,” he said, winding his hand in her hair. “They can get on without us today, but tomorrow morning he’d like you to consult with the local masons about the walls.”

“They’re a right mess,” Gimli agreed. She thought for a moment. “What’re we to do with today, then?”

Legolas was many things, but Gimli had never seen him be shy. She found it rather hilarious, and fought down a grin as he looked up at her through golden eyelashes. “Thought we might stay in,” Legolas said.

“Anything you like,” Gimli said, and pulled him into another kiss. This time, it quickly became more intense, their tongues battling even as Gimli shifted around so she was straddling his lap. She could feel him half-hard already in his leggings, and she rocked against him; Legolas moaned into her mouth and suddenly she could hardly breathe.

Gimli pulled back, uncertainty prickling the edges of her mind. “We don’t have to do anything,” she said rapidly. Legolas’ brow knit, and Gimli found herself distracted by his slightly pursed lips, already dark and swollen.

“Do you not-“

“No, no, I do,” Gimli interrupted. “Very much. But you’ve never had a lover before, I want you to be comfortable.”

Legolas shifted underneath her, pressing his hardened length up against her, and Gimli bit back a gasp. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide.

“Gimli. Lie with me.” 

Gimli was done talking. She surged forward, taking Legolas’ mouth in a heated kiss, which he returned fervently. She yanked his tunic up, and he practically threw it off to land elsewhere. She ran her hands over his chest, his belly, feeling how the muscles fluttered and surged. She tweaked a nipple, remembering, and grinned into his mouth when he squeaked.

Legolas pulled back, eyes dark. “ _Heltho_ ,” he growled.

“Wh-“

Legolas’ clever fingers worked under the hem of her tunic and swiftly drew it up and away. Gimli felt a moment of piercing uncertainty- the months on the road had stripped her body of any softness, leaving only hard lines of muscle. Even her already-small breasts had shrunk. She was hardly the ideal figure of a dam at the moment.

Legolas didn’t seem to care. He drew reverent fingers across her collar bones, then down, exploring her breasts. He paused at her nipples, running his thumbs around and over the tiny gold barbells piercing each one.

“Some dwarvish custom?” he asked distractedly as her nipples pebbled under his touch.

“Just fashion,” Gimli replied faintly, arching into him; she was already slick, aching for friction against her cunt. Legolas teased one nipple with his tongue, exploring the way flesh and metal met, and she gasped quietly at the sensation, grasping at Legolas’ hair and rocking up against the bulge of his cock, hidden under woolen leggings.

Legolas ran warm hands down her back, then under the waistband of her trousers, palming her arse as he licked a path along her breast, his breath coming harsher. Gimli’s fingers were leaving dark marks on his shoulder.

Moving swiftly, Gimli suddenly slid of Legolas’ lap to stand on the floor. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw she was unlacing her trousers. He watched, eyes dark, as she wriggled out of them, followed swiftly by her smalls, and stood naked on the flagstone floor. The hungry look in her lover’s face banished any insecurity she might have felt, replacing it with a bolt of desire for him. 

“You too,” Gimli demanded, and Legolas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Gimli swatted his hands away and undid the laces herself, going to one knee and pressing faint kisses to his muscled belly as she worked the unfamiliar knots. They came loose soon enough, and with his help she swiftly eased the leggings over the ridge of his hipbones and down, abandoning them on the floor. He was left only in linen drawers, and with a glimpse at his face for confirmation Gimli undid and threw away those as well.

His cock stood free, flushed dark pink, and Legolas looked anxious for a moment until Gimli took him in her hand, feeling the silk-over-stone of him, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Legolas’ head dropped back and he sucked in a deep breath as she explored. He had only a smattering of golden hair, but otherwise he looked much like every other male she’d been with.. Gimli ran her thumb over the slit, making Legolas hiss.

“Talk to me,” Gimli urged, running the nails of her free hand up the elf’s inner thigh. Legolas slid back onto his elbows, propping himself up, but he met her gaze, his lips parted.

“I don’t know- I can’t—“

“Then just tell me if I should stop,” Gimli said, and then ran her tongue up the underside of his shaft.

“Ai!” he cried, chest heaving, and Gimli took heart, wrapping her lips around the head and slowly taking him in, pinning his hips with her forearm as he writhed.

“ _Avo dharo_ ,” he moaned, and Gimli glanced up to see his eyes fierce on her, cheeks flushed, watching as she hollowed her cheeks around him.

His voice, low and rasping with heat, was the most beautiful music. Gimli pressed her hand to her cunt, dying for friction or pressure or _something_ , as she worked him over, running her tongue around the head, tasting him-

“Gimli – stop--“ Legolas wriggled, trying to escape, and Gimli let him go, bemused. Legolas sat up and seized her by the elbows, pulling her back into the bed beside him. 

“Not yet,” he panted, and pulled her into a fierce kiss, his wet cock pressed against her thigh. Gimli hummed into the kiss, absurdly pleased with herself.

His hands were running all over her, neck, waist, belly- he paused at her hip, outlining the shape of her hipbones with clever fingers.

“Show me,” he murmured against her neck.

Moving slowly, Gimli took his hand in her own, guiding him past her damp curls and to the hot, slick nub of her clit. “Just- oh,” she moaned, gasping against his skin as he took the cue and began an exploration of his own, rubbing little circles on her clit and sliding his fingers along her folds.

This was lovely, and some other time she’d ride his hand until she screamed, but now she just felt empty. She rolled onto her back, pulling Legolas along with her so he was laying between her legs, their chests pressed together. “Want you,” she panted. “In me.”

Legolas’ only reply was a fierce kiss, hard enough to bruise, as he arched over her, his cock just barely brushing against her folds. Gimli ran her foot up the back of his leg.

“Gimli, little help…” Legolas grumbled against her neck. Gimli couldn’t quite hold in a snort of laughter; Legolas retaliated with by biting her shoulder, turning her laugh into a groan. She took him in hand, helping line him up properly.

Legolas pressed into her slowly, surely more for his own benefit than hers; she shivered, exulting in the feeling of finally being filled. She ran her hands up and down his back, his skin just slightly damp with sweat as he breathed harshly. 

“Stay with me, love,” Gimli murmured, letting him get accustomed to her; Legolas hummed and kissed her, shifting his weight to his elbows. Gimli wrapped her legs around his hips.

Legolas made small, experimental thrusts, and Gimli was ready to go out of her mind, already halfway to climax and this elf was _not helping_. She ground into his hips, wrenching a gasp from Legolas.

“Not some delicate flower, elf,” Gimli growled, squeezing her cunt around him and bending to lave his nipple with her tongue. Legolas babbled something back in elvish, but he finally started to move, finding his rhythm after a moment.

Gimli found herself making a low keening sound as she pressed back, reveling in the tight, slick feel of him sliding in and out, his heart pounding under her ear. His hand found her breast and toyed with her piercing, tugging lightly, setting her very skin on fire. She could feel the pressure building, sending her to her peak, and silently encouraged Legolas to go faster, harder, and he did. Gimli arched up against him. His thrusts were becoming erratic, his whole body starting to tense up against her-

“Oh, Legolas, yes-!” Suddenly Gimli peaked, lightning going up and down her spine, every hair on her body standing on end as she shuddered, pulsing around Legolas’ cock. Legolas let out a strangled cry, and then he followed her over the edge, throbbing, filling her up with his seed as he shuddered heavily, seeking her mouth with his for a sloppy kiss as they both rode out the last waves of pleasure.

Slowly, they both calmed, Legolas laying his weight fully on her. Gimli didn’t mind, embracing him tightly. Eventually, Legolas sighed into her hair—surely a disaster now—and rolled to one side, sliding out of Gimli as he went. She curled up into his chest and threw one leg over his waist, ignoring the rapidly cooling semen pooling on her thighs.

“Worth waiting for?” Gimli asked, absently stroking his chest. Legolas caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the pads, his gaze on hers.

“You are,” he said softly, and Gimli snorted, but couldn’t fight back a slight blush.

“Silly elf,” she said fondly, and Legolas smiled back, relaxed and loose as she’d ever seen him.

They lay silently, luxuriating in their closeness. Gimli was starting to drift into sleep when Legolas spoke again.

“Your beard tickles.”

Gimli gave Legolas a shove, and he burst into laughter, only stopping when Gimli shut him up with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally never written smut before. It probably shows.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Heltho: strip  
> Avo dharo: don’t stop


	17. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War comes to an end, but some things are only just beginning.

They would reach the Black Gates in the morning. Weeks of planning, days of marching across the increasingly desolate lands, all of it narrowed down to this moment, balanced on the knife-edge of fate.

In the warm dimness of their small tent, Gimli and Legolas curled around each other, savoring the feel of flesh on flesh, the simple comfort of knowing they were not alone. Both were hardened warriors, but tomorrow they would knowingly march to their deaths. It was enough to quail almost any heart.

“After Fangorn and the caves at Helm’s Deep, where should we go?” Gimli asked softly. She trailed her fingers down Legolas’ sternum and toyed with the sparse hairs there, refusing to meet his gaze.

Legolas took a long time in answering. “I have not been to the Greenwood for many years,” he said slowly, his breath stirring Gimli’s hair. “Maybe there.”

“We’d have to visit Erebor, then,” Gimli replied. “See my parents. Amad will like you.”

Legolas hummed absently, winding his hand through a lock of Gimli’s hair, unbound specifically for that purpose. “Gimli…”

“What,” Gimli said dully. Legolas released her hair, took her by the chin and turned her face to his. He searched her gaze for a moment, his pale eyes almost glowing in the darkness, then sighed and kissed her softly.

“Love you, melethril nin,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing hers as he spoke. There were no other words left. Tomorrow would bring what it would.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The silence fell on the battlefield like a hammer blow.

Gimli staggered slightly, letting her axe drop, as she looked about. The orcs had fled back behind the Black Gates, leaving only their dead behind. Gimli saw no allies near at hand, only their carcasses, shredded and crushed by the enemy. Many were unrecognizable, trampled into the dirt.

“Legolas!” she bellowed, picking her way through the corpses, looking for those merely wounded, hoping not to see her friends in the faces of the dead. There were so many dead. “Aragorn! Éomer!”

The medics were starting to mobilize, she noticed, and she could see the white gleam of Gandalf far off. The scattered, decimated army was regrouping itself. Still she searched. 

A passing glance, only, but no one else had such furry feet- Gimli scrambled over dead orcs to the collapsed cave troll. Poking out from under one massive granite-gray leg was a pair of familiar feet. “Pippin!” she called. “Pippin, answer me, lad!”

She seized the troll flesh, heaving upward, but she couldn’t lift it and pull Pippin out at the same time. Her shoulders trembled under the weight. “Pippin!”

Suddenly a form raced past her, a flash of gold and green, and pulled the hobbit from the troll’s shadow. Gimli dropped the beast gratefully. She had barely turned to see if Pippin was all right before familiar arms had pulled her into a tight embrace, her face smashed into a green collar.

“You disappeared- I had no idea where you’d gone-“

“I’m fine, really- mmph!“

Legolas pulled her into a desperate kiss, teeth clacking in the first press, softening only slightly as he kissed her like he thought to memorize the topography of her mouth with his tongue. Gimli returned it, knotting her hands in his hair, almost ecstatic to have him in her arms.

“What- oh, dear.”

Gimli broke the kiss and looked down at Pippin, who looked very disoriented and nonplussed as he returned to consciousness, his small face slowly turning red.

“Are you terribly wounded?” Gimli asked, more sharply than she’d meant to.

“I don’t think so?”

“Lovely,” Legolas said, and went back to plundering his lover’s mouth. 

Gimli made a small ‘mmph’ noise and pulled back, holding up a hand to stay him.

“Pippin needs a medic, I need a wash, and Valar knows what trouble Aragorn’s got himself in,” she said. “Kiss me silly later, yeah?”

“My lady,” Legolas replied, a faint smile on his lips, and took her hand to kiss her knuckles. 

“Your- what? I thought you was a bloke!” Pippin sputtered. 

“Talk about it later, thanks much,” Gimli said briskly, ignoring Legolas’ sudden triumphant smile, and helped Pippin to his feet.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It felt like an age before Gimli so much as spoke to Legolas again, though it was only the space of an afternoon. Frodo and Sam were deposited, half-dead, with Gandalf and were immediately set upon by healers. The entire army marched to Ithilien to camp and recuperate, and Legolas and Gimli each had their responsibilities. They exchanged warm glances in passing, but nothing more- there were wounded to tend, horseshoes to replace, hobbits to chivvy.

Gimli assembled her tent alone. She hadn’t been assigned a watch, so she built a fire and just sat there, smoking and waiting.

Men came and went, taking advantage of the fire. Gimli chatted with some, until they passed on to their own billets. The camp grew quieter as the night wore on. Still Gimli sat and watched the fire spit sparks into the darkness, occasionally adding another log or stirring the coals with a long stick.

Gimli had been alone for a long time when he finally arrived.

Legolas resolved slowly out of the darkness as he padded toward her on silent feet. Gimli stood, taking in the way the firelight glinted off his eyes, the sinuous lines of his body. Finally he drew close and Gimli rushed the last few feet, Legolas wrapping her in his arms. Gimli all but burrowed her face in his chest, deeply inhaling the meltwater-over-stones scent of him.

“How’re Frodo and Sam?” Gimli asked, her voice muffled in Legolas’ leathers.

“They’ll live, though they do not yet wake. We can only wait.” 

Gimli peered up at him in the darkness. “Well now what?” she asked baldly, startling a laugh from the elf.

“Sauron is defeated. Even the horizon is no obstacle, not anymore.”

“Not exactly an itinerary,” Gimli pointed out, but Legolas only laughed again and pulled her into a thorough kiss.

“Oi! Shut it!” yelled someone.

Gimli laughed against Legolas’ mouth. “We’re upsetting the neighbors.”

They climbed into the small tent together, removing each other’s clothes with a kind of joyful reverence. They had all the time in the world to lazily assess each other’s small hurts and salve them with warm kisses and gentle sighs.

Gimli lay on her back, staring into the middle distance. “Let’s get married,” she blurted.

Legolas looked up from where he was doing a thorough examination of her belly with his mouth. “What?”

Gimli propped herself up on her elbows. “I will be by your side no matter your answer, but a proper marriage contract will stop a lot of problems before they even begin, at least among my people. It’s considered both legally and spiritually binding, you don’t muck about with it unless you want both Mahal and an angry lawyer on your arse.”

Legolas rested his head on her hipbone, considering. “Just to quiet naysayers?” he asked, a faint teasing note to his voice.

Gimli huffed mock-angrily. “Well, that and so you can’t change your mind later, you silly elf.”

Legolas smiled. “Of course.”

Gimli softened. “Get up here.”

Legolas obligingly shifted so he was level with Gimli, and they exchanged soft kisses for a moment before curling around each other in the pallet. 

“No matter how our lives play out, I would be with you,” Legolas said against her skin, his breath tickling as he kissed her shoulder. “ _Gi melin_.”

“Right, so Gandalf ought to know enough about Dwarven law to write up a contract. There’s a hand fasting, usually, and we’d probably want Aragorn for-“

“Might we discuss it in the morning?”

“Yes, but- oh, that’s… all right…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gi melin: I love you

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
